Look What You Made Me Do
by kymbersmith90
Summary: Special Agent Jones is on the hunt for what is rapidly becoming one of the worst serial killers in the USA. He can't afford to be distracted by the pretty, blonde (and in his honest opinion, completely undeserving) popstar that just so happens to be his killer's muse.
1. Prologue

**Tumblr asked, so you shall receive. (If you follow me there you'll know there are a lot of words in my files that have yet to be posted).**

 **There isn't a set posting schedule for this one just yet, I'm afraid. But there are 8 more updates fully written and edited ready for posting, along with plenty more words that need tidying up to post.**

 **Special thanks go to Nina, Tori and Joni for all their help with this piece.**

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"Another?" Jones called out, as he ducked down under the yellow crime scene tape that was already in place, to make his way over to where David was already kneeling next to the medical examiner.

"Looks like it," Gold replied for him. "There are ligature marks on the wrists and ankles, which suggest that the victim was bound with cable ties. The same wounds have been inflicted here, here and here…" Gold lifted the simple white sheet covering the body, to indicate the deep cuts that had been made in the torso. They were in almost identical spots to the last two victims Jones had examined. "They seem to suggest that the victim was once again tortured, before she was killed. And of course," he paused to pick up the young woman's left hand, which was missing her ring finger. "The same trophy was taken."

Jones sighed as he dropped down next to the two men, and lifted the sheet that had been placed over the victim to conceal her identity from the flock of reporters who had already descended on the scene. The rumors of a possible American serial killer had them out in droves, eager for the next instalment of the saga to sell to the terrified public.

"Have you checked inside of her mouth yet?" he asked, as he dropped the sheet back down. The young woman looked to be in her early twenties, and had probably been very pretty, before her face was slashed multiple times, to the point of disfigurement. Another signature of what Jones was hoping wouldn't turn into a hunt for the country's biggest serial killer.

"We were waiting for you, Agent Jones," Gold admitted, as he peeled back a corner of the white sheet to gently pry open the victim's mouth. Sure enough, inside sat a balled up piece of paper that Jones knew would have been stuffed inside post-mortem. He watched as Gold gently wiggled it free with a pair of tweezers, before covering the victim once more, and holding out the slightly soggy paper to the two FBI agents that were gathered around him.

David took it from him with a huff of his own, as he flattened it out to read what had been written on it.

Jones didn't need to look.

He already knew what that note would say.

They'd found exactly the same one on their last two victims, written in exactly the same handwriting, using exactly the same pen, on exactly the same type of paper.

"Look what you made me do," David read stoically, as Gold held out an evidence bag for him to slip the page inside of.

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 **Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 1

" _So, I am appealing for anyone with any information to come forward, no matter how insignificant you may feel it to be. Thank you."_

Emma shut off the television as the press conference came to an end, and began to pace once more in front of the fire roaring away in her lounge.

"We have to call that number," she stated.

"Oh no we don't," Regina objected. "This could _ruin_ you Emma. I thought you wanted to be known as one of the best in the industry, not someone a serial killer decided to go on a murder spree for?"

"Innocent people are dying," she protested, whirling on her lawyer. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"You can and you _will_ if you want to keep your career," Regina threatened. "I have to go. Some of us have work to do tomorrow. But if you know what's good for you, you'll burn that package just like you did the last two." She stormed from the room before Emma had a chance to object, leaving the younger woman alone with her own thoughts.

Logically, she knew that Regina was right. By coming forward with what she knew, if the authorities leaked the information to the media, her career would be ruined. She'd always be known as the girl who caused a spree of brutal killings in America.

But her conscience wouldn't allow her to sit on what she knew any longer.

So with Regina gone, Emma reached for her phone and quickly tapped in the number that had been scrolling across the bottom of the screen, as the FBI gave their press conference.

"Hello, FBI tip line," answered an overly-cheery voice, considering the nature of the calls she fielded. "How may I direct your call today?"

"I um… I need to speak with the lead on the potential serial killer case, please?"

"I'm afraid all of our agents are busy right now," the overly-cheery voice replied. "But if you leave the information you have with me, it will be assessed by the relevant people, who will be back in touch with you when they have determined its validity."

Emma didn't like the idea of passing her information on to a middle-man. The information she held was sensitive, and she knew that the more people who knew her name in relation to it, the greater chance it had of leaking.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," she told the call handler. "Can you please just instruct someone to call me back?"

"I'm afraid _we_ can't do that without more information." The overly-cheery voice hardened slightly at Emma's refusal to cooperate, and she sighed as she brought a hand up to massage the headache that was beginning to form.

Again.

"I'm sure you already have this number," she replied instead. "So instruct your lead investigator to call me back. I assume he or she will want to talk to the only other person who knows that this killer has been cutting the ring fingers off their victims." Emma didn't bother to wait for a reply. She wasn't in the mood for more bullshit. Instead, she simply ended the call and tossed her phone down onto her sofa, before making her way over to the small liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, to find the whiskey hidden inside.

Ever since the first package had arrived, she'd been using it to try and drown out the mental images of the pictures she'd been forced to look at. Thankfully, the shrill ringing of her cellphone stopped her before she could down the glass she'd poured for herself. Emma had to admit, she was worried that she was on the verge of becoming an alcoholic with the amount of liquor she had consumed since the parcels had started arriving. But it was the only thing that seemed to help her sleep these days.

"Yes?" she asked, answering it without bothering to check the caller ID.

"This is Special Agent Jones with the FBI. I was asked to call you about some information you had."

Emma sat down with a heavy sigh as she contemplated how to word what she knew. She didn't want to sound like a crazy person, but she also didn't want to just blurt it all out. She knew there was no chance of being believed in either of those situations. And her years of binge-watching crime dramas were yelling at her not to make herself a suspect in this huge mess.

"Is um… is there any way we could do this in person?" she asked eventually. "I think it might be easier to show you what I have."

"You could come down to the Wilshire Federal Building, and we could speak here," he suggested.

"I can't do that," she replied quickly. The moment the media caught wind of her at the FBI field office, she'd be in the center of a shit show. And that would definitely spell out the end of her career. "Can you come to me?"

"I'd need some kind of assurance that I was not walking into a trap, and that this is not an elaborate prank," he sighed heavily. Emma knew she was being difficult. She just hoped that he would realize why when they eventually met.

"He blames me," she whispered into the handset. "He says he's doing it all to protect me. But he ends all of his letters the same way." The tears she had been fighting to hold back spilled over as she reached for the package that she hadn't yet opened.

She hated the thought of innocent people losing their lives because of her.

"What do they say?" Agent Jones interjected softly.

It took Emma a few moments to steady her breathing enough to be able to croak out the words.

"Look what you made me do."

The gasping sob that followed was all the confirmation Agent Jones needed that he wasn't being played. "Text me your address. I'm leaving the office now."

"Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you for believing me." She hung up the phone before she could say anything else, and with trembling hands tapped out her address to send to the number he had called from.

Emma paced in front of her door as she waited for his arrival, using the nervous energy to keep her away from the call of oblivion offered to her by the whiskey. Thankfully, the buzz from her front gate sounded before she could reach for the bottle.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly from the fear and exhaustion caused by the events of the last few weeks.

"It's Special Agent Jones, with the FBI."

Emma took a few deep breaths in before she buzzed him through, and then continued her pacing until he rang her doorbell.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but when she pulled open the door, the man she saw standing on the other side was not it. Instead of a gruff, middle-aged man, she was face-to-face with what was possibly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen in her entire life.

"Emma Swan?" he asked, his brow crinkling in confusion.

"H… How… how did you know my name?" she gasped, as the fear and worry flooding her veins made her tighten her grip on the door.

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 **Thanks for your wonderful response to the prologue. I hope you'll continue to enjoy what I have planned for this piece.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much for all of your wonderful comments on this story. I'm blown away by the response it has received.**

 **I should point out that I was perhaps a little unclear in the prologue. David is Killian's partner. Gold is the medical examiner. I hope that helps.**

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Killian seemed to sense the rapidly building panic within Emma, as he quickly raised his hands in submission and explained, "My niece is a big fan of yours. She has your posters on her bedroom walls."

"Oh, um… thanks," she told him, as she stepped back to pull the door open wider in invitation. "Come in. I'm sorry. I guess this whole thing has just made me a little jumpy."

"That's completely understandable." Killian took a good look around at the obvious luxury the rather nervous looking Emma Swan lived in. He knew it wasn't exactly her fault, but in that moment, he couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards her for it. Emma Swan had probably never worked a full-time job in her life. And yet there she was, living in a house that was far too big for just her, without the worry of how she was going to pay her bills for the rest of the month.

He, on the other hand, had worked hard to get to the position he held with the FBI. He usually put in more hours in the average week than he imagined Emma Swan ever had before, during her busiest working times. And while he was finally in a somewhat comfortable position in life, he'd had to watch as his big brother struggled daily in his own. Liam was a single father, attempting to balance the raising of his daughter with the need to hold down a steady job that would keep them both fed and housed.

"So, what is it that you wanted to show me?" he asked, attempting to shake off the negativity he could feel building within him.

"This." Emma nodded her head to the package that was sat on her sofa, and Agent Jones quirked a brow in her direction. "I couldn't bring myself to open it," she explained.

"So how do you know it's relevant to the case?"

"It's the same. _Everything's_ the same."

Agent Jones reached into a pocket of his black woolen jacket to pull out a pair of latex gloves, that he quickly slipped on, before he picked up the innocent looking box from the sofa. As he turned it over in his hands, the first thing that caught his attention was the familiar, elegant handwriting that had addressed the package to, _My Darling, Emma Swan._

"There's no address," he noted, as he continued to examine every inch of the box. "Were the others the same?"

"Um… I can't remember," she replied honestly. "I still have them, though."

"I'd like to see them, please?" Emma nodded her agreement and quickly scampered from the room, as Killian pulled out a pocket knife, sliced easily through the tape on the package, and opened it up.

On top was a letter written in the same handwriting as the notes they had found stuffed inside each victim's mouth. While the letter was written on bigger stationary, Killian would be willing to bet his car on the fact that the lab would confirm it to be the same type of paper, and the same brand of ink, as those they had taken from inside their victim's mouths.

 _My Darling Emma,_

 _I saw you again yesterday._

 _You still look so sad._

 _I wish you would smile for me again. You look beautiful when you smile. I miss that._

 _I hope that my gifts are helping to achieve this. I have another one for you today. I tracked down that stuck-up little bitch who thought she was better than you. She won't be rambling on to all of her idiotic followers any more._

 _Now she's as ugly on the outside, as she is on the inside._

 _I hope you like my gift._

 _Why don't they make you smile, Emma?_

 _I do it all for you. All to make you happy again. I just want to make you happy. Is that really such a bad thing? Why don't you ever let me know that you're receiving these? Why won't you smile for me? Is that really too much to ask for?_

 _I just want to make the woman I love happy again._

 _Look what you made me do!_

"Wow," he mumbled to himself, as he read the note over again, and then once more. Whoever was behind the attacks was clearly unstable. Their letter had gone from showing their obsessive love for Emma, to blaming her for the crimes they had committed.

"Here," Emma interrupted, setting two identical packages down next to him on the sofa, before she turned away from them to pace in front of her fire. "My lawyer said I should burn them. But… I couldn't bring myself to do that."

"Your lawyer needs to be disbarred," Agent Jones mumbled, as he pushed the letter aside to pull out the large envelope underneath it. "Oh God."

The pictures in his hands were perhaps more disturbing than the actual crime scene had been. They flicked from showing a clearly terrified young woman, bound to a steel chair; to showing her horror and pain as the killer inflicted his torture upon her; all the way through to the actual act of slitting the victim's throat, and then, the mutilation to her body that had taken place post-mortem.

Killian was starting to feel less resentful and more sorry for the woman who was clearly suffering in front of him. He'd seen some crazy shit over the years, and some of that still haunted his dreams. But Emma Swan didn't have the years of training, or the experience behind her that he did, to help her deal with what was currently happening.

He had no idea how she hadn't yet buckled under the pressure of it all.

In that moment, Killian saw her more as a scared young woman, than he did as an international pop star who didn't deserve all of the wealth and luxury life had blessed her with.

"What's this?" he asked, as he fished through the boxes of chocolates, rose petals, and the soft, stuffed bear that had also been placed into the package, to pull out what appeared to be a jewelry box.

Emma turned back to see what he was holding before she turned away again quickly. He didn't wait for her to answer. Instead, he flicked the catch on the lid, and carefully peeled back the white satin fabric that was inside.

"Jesus Christ," he blurted out, the moment his eyes landed on the severed finger underneath it all. He slammed the lid down quickly, before placing it, and everything else, back into the cardboard box it had been sent in. "Did the rest of these packages contain the same items?" he asked, his voice hardening as he turned his full attention up to the young woman pacing before him.

"Yes," she whispered, reaching for the warm glass of whiskey that was still stood on top of her liquor cabinet.

"And you didn't think to call the police?"

"I was going to, but Regina said that it was just an elaborate prank, and that I didn't need to get tangled up in that kind of mess for someone with a sick sense of humor. It wasn't until I saw the news tonight that I realized what was happening." Her voice trailed off as she realized just how stupid she had been.

"Someone sent you a severed finger and you thought it was a prank?" he asked, his voice ringing with disbelief. "You do know that I could charge you right now for withholding evidence, right? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't?"

"Because I was scared," she admitted softly. "I _wanted_ to believe it was prank, because if it's not, then some whack-job really is out there, murdering people because he thinks it will make me happy. And they have my address! When does he stop killing other people and start killing me?"

Killian swallowed hard as she turned large, watery eyes his way that screamed of her helplessness and fear. "You should have come forward sooner," he told her forcefully. "We can protect you."

Emma laughed a little bitterly as she drained what was left in her glass, and moved to pour herself another. "Yeah, I doubt that," she mumbled. "If this homicidal maniac doesn't kill me first, I might drink myself to death just to get those fucking images out of my mind."

Killian took the three steps forward he needed to put himself in reach of the young woman, and pulled the crystal glass from her hand, tipping the contents of it into the nearest potted plant. " _We can protect you_ ," he stated again firmly. "You made a mistake by not coming forward sooner, but now that you have, we _can_ protect you, Miss Swan."

He wasn't entirely sure what happened next.

One minute he was looking at Emma Swan as tears ran down her face, smudging her perfect makeup, while her shoulders shook with her fear. The next, he had an armful of the popstar as she cried into his chest.

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 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

 **Special thanks to Luna, Talz, Nugget, Alexa, Lexan and all of the guests for their sweet comments on this piece. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to you in person.**


	4. Chapter 3

When Killian finally managed to calm Emma down, he gently eased her onto the sofa before telling her, "I'm gonna go and grab you a glass of water. I need to call this in too, okay?"

"No, you can't," she begged, her hand shooting out to latch onto his arm once more.

"I have to. It's procedure," he explained softly. "This is evidence in three separate homicides, which now proves our theory that they're linked. I _have_ to follow procedure here, Miss Swan. If I don't, then when we catch this creepy bastard, he could walk free because of it. Is that something you could live with?"

Emma's lip trembled softly with a fresh wave of tears. "It'll ruin my career," she whispered.

Killian gently pried her hand off his arm to crouch down in front of her. "Well, I'm sorry, but you're getting no choice in this matter," he told her firmly. "Three people have _died_ , Miss Swan. I'm sorry that their loss of life might ruin yours, but at least you still have one. They weren't quite as lucky. Now, I'm gonna go and fetch you a glass of water and call this in, do you understand me?"

"You think I don't know that?" she shot back. "You think their deaths aren't constantly on my mind? That I don't wake up every morning and _hate_ myself for being the reason that they're dead? Do you honestly think I'll _ever_ get those fucking images out of my head? I know this is my fault. He makes that pretty fucking obvious with every letter and goddamned finger he sends me. And I know I've probably made things worse by trying to convince myself that it was all some kind of sick joke. But I'm just doing my best to protect my career. Because right now, it's the _only_ thing that's stopping me from ending my own life."

Killian's ire calmed a little at the haunted look in Emma's eyes. He could see the way her fingers twitched, as her eyes darted over to the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room, before settling back on his face. And he hated himself a little for what he'd said. He didn't know much about Emma Swan, beyond her choice of career. He would wager that Ellie knew more about her than he did. But in that moment, she looked so much like a lost little girl.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that," he offered. "This case is just getting under my skin and I shouldn't have taken that out on you. Or implied that you didn't care. But I _have_ to call this in. I'll make sure the department is as discreet as they can be, though. I promised we'd keep you safe. That means concealing your identity too. Okay?"

Emma finally nodded her agreement and Killian offered her arm a gentle squeeze before he stood once more. "Which direction is your kitchen?" he asked. He wouldn't be surprised if the damned house was like a TARDIS – bigger on the inside than it looked from outside.

"Through there," she replied tonelessly, as she nodded her head over her shoulder.

Killian smiled softly down at her to show that he'd heard what she'd said, before he set off to find the room. As he did, he pulled out his phone to call in what had happened. It took him as long as the call he'd placed to locate Emma Swan's kitchen. He passed what appeared to be a music room; along with a bathroom; and another lounge, before he finally stepped into the marble and cherry wood of her kitchen.

"Jesus, how many rooms does one girl need?" he mumbled to himself, before he started pulling open cabinets in his hunt for a glass. He had to admit, she kept the place pretty clean and orderly. Although, he was willing to bet that was more likely a result of her cleaner, or her mother's actions, rather than her own. Emma Swan didn't look like the kind of girl who would enjoy getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the floor.

He finally found the crystal glasses that matched the tumbler he'd taken from her earlier that evening, on the other side of the kitchen. The fridge was easy enough to locate, and there were small bottles of water inside of it that he assumed she would prefer over tap water. Emma Swan didn't look like a tap water kinda girl either. Killian tucked two of them into the crook of his arm, before he made his way out of the room and back through the maze of corridors to find the lounge once more.

Emma was no longer sat on the sofa when he finally made it back. She'd returned to pacing in front of the fire once more, with another glass of amber liquid in her hand.

"Hey," he declared firmly.

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice, but continued her pacing. Killian sighed as he sat the bottles and glass onto the small coffee table, before he approached her again. " _This,"_ he explained, pulling the glass out of her hand, "doesn't help."

"You're wrong," she shot back, reaching for the drink he'd taken from her. But before she could touch it, Killian upturned it into the same potted plant as had the last time. He sat the empty glass down on top of the cabinet, while she continued to glare daggers into the side of his head.

"You only think it does," he countered. "Trust me, the bottom of the bottle isn't as satisfying as you think it is. I know you've been through a lot recently, but _this_ isn't the answer."

"And how would you know that?"

"I've been doing this job long enough," was all he told her.

Emma didn't have time to say anything else, as they were interrupted by a sharp buzz from her front gate, and she jumped a little at the sudden noise.

Killian found himself wondering if she'd been jumping every time someone rang that bell, since the first package had arrived. And like before, he found his anger calming a little at the thought of her being so scared in her own home.

"Wait here," he told her, as his hand dropped down to cover the gun that was sat on his hip. He assumed that it was the crime scene team that had arrived, ready to collect the evidence. But given what he'd learned that evening, he was taking no chances.

Thankfully, Killian recognized the voice of his own people, and their van, when he saw it on Emma's security monitor. He also identified the dark SUV following behind it as David's, so he didn't hesitate to buzz them through the gate, before making his way into the hall to wait for them by the front door.

"Wow, we are definitely in Hollywood now," David whistled, as he made his way up the drive and over to the open door his partner was holding for him. "Whose place is this?"

"Do you remember that singer that Ellie loves?" Killian asked softly, casting a look over his shoulder to see if Emma had decided to follow him out. At David's nod of agreement he added, "Her."

"Shit! What the hell is she doing caught up in all of this?"

"The killer seems to be some kind of crazed super fan," Killian whispered. "His letters go from declaring his love for her, to blaming her for making him kill the victims. And he's targeting people that he believes have hurt her."

"Shit," David cursed again, as he slipped through the door. "Nice place, though."

"Too fucking nice," Killian snorted. He waited for the crime scene techs to get their stuff together before he guided everyone through the hall and into the lounge once more.

Emma was pacing in front of the fire again. But this time, she was sipping from a bottle of water, instead of a glass of whiskey.

"Miss Swan?" Killian called out softly, in an attempt not to spook her.

It didn't work.

Emma almost covered herself in the water with the way she jumped.

"It's okay," he reassured her. "This is my partner, Special Agent David Nolan. And these are our crime scene techs. They're gonna take a look at the packages you've received, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered back, before downing the contents of her bottle in one long pull.

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 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	5. Chapter 4

The crime scene techs left the house almost two hours after their arrival.

Killian had guided Emma through to the other lounge he'd seen earlier that evening, on his way to the kitchen, to allow their team to go through each of the boxes thoroughly. The techs had taken their time removing every item one-by-one to photograph from each possible angle, before forensically securing them for transportation back to the lab. One of the technicians had been tasked with taking some pictures of the general layout of the ground floor of the house, and in particular, the way in which mail made its way onto the property. Others spent their time dusting for prints at the front gate and around Emma's doorway, in the vague hopes that something might come up when they run them through the system.

Their final task for the evening had been taking Emma's own prints, to rule them out of whatever may have been found. Killian had been sure that it would be the breaking point for the young popstar, but he watched as Emma swallowed back her tears just long enough to give them what was needed, before she escaped to the sanctuary of one of the bathrooms in her home.

"Miss Swan," he called out softly, as his knuckles rapped on the door she'd disappeared behind. "I know this is difficult for you, but my partner and I just need to go over a few more things before we can leave."

He heard what sounded like someone blowing their nose, followed by the distinct flush of the toilet, before the lock on the door clicked open a few moments later. Emma's eyes were ringed in red, betraying the tears that had fallen in private, but Killian decided not to mention them unless she chose to bring them up.

"Emma."

"Pardon me?" he asked, a little confused by that one word statement.

"My name. It's Emma. You don't have to keep calling me, 'Miss Swan.'"

"Thank you, Emma. I'll try and keep that in mind." Killian smiled softly down at her before letting her lead the way back to the lounge. David was already there waiting for the two of them, and had parked himself in one of the chairs around the small table which stood in the corner of the room.

"I'm sorry about this, Miss Swan," he offered, standing to gesture for her to take a seat in one of the free chairs. "We just need to be as thorough as we possibly can be. We don't want to miss anything that could help us catch this guy before he hurts someone else."

Emma nodded her understanding as she lowered her body to sit stiffly in one of the leather-padded seats. She pulled down on the sleeves on her sweater, almost as if the physical shield of the cotton would help keep her safe. She looked so young and innocent in that moment, that Killian's heart broke a little for her.

"How old are you, Emma?" he asked, before he could think the question through. David cocked a brow in his direction, but Killian played it off as no big deal by pulling out his own pad and pen, ready to take some notes.

"Twenty-four," she replied easily. She didn't even look startled by the oddness of the question, although he assumed that was because she'd never been questioned by the authorities before.

Killian scribbled the number at the top of his page, circling it a few times for added effect, before he dived straight in with the questions he knew he _should_ be asking. "Okay. I'll need you to start at the beginning for me. Before the first package arrived, had you ever received any other parcels or letters written in a similar hand? Or anything professing the same kind of love for you?"

Emma snorted a laugh and for a brief moment, Killian was worried that she had cracked completely under the stress of recent events. "I get letters like that _every day,_ Agent Jones. As for the handwriting… I don't know. I don't tend to spend my time analyzing it, I'm afraid."

"Anything in particular that struck you as strange?" David pressed.

"Having men twice your age describe to you in a letter _exactly_ how they wanna fuck you is everyone's definition of strange. I stopped reading a lot of it a long time ago."

"What happens to all of your fan mail?" Killian wondered. He knew that many celebrities kept the less crazy stuff they received, and he'd kind of assumed that Emma Swan would be the same. At least, he hoped that she was, given that Ellie had written to her favorite popstar a few times over the last couple of years. While she'd always gotten a letter and a signed picture back, Killian knew that his niece would be crushed if she thought her own letters simply ended up in the trash before ever reaching the hands of their intended recipient.

"It's sorted by the security people that work here, before it comes to me. I only see the good stuff like the pictures kids draw for me, or the letters thanking me for helping them through difficult times." Emma fidgeted a little more and Killian reached for the second bottle of water he'd brought through to the room with him, to give her something to keep her hands occupied with.

"Do you think your team would have kept the bad?" he asked gently.

"I honestly don't know," she sighed. "You can ask them. But I just…. I can't help you there. I'm sorry."

"No, no," David assured her, "You're already helping us."

When Emma cocked a brow in disbelief, Killian jumped in to supply an explanation. "You've just told us that all of your mail is sorted before you get it. Which means whoever sent those boxes has been watching you long enough to know that. And they also know how to get around the issue too. So that's something to start with."

Emma shivered a little at the thought of some stranger knowing the inner workings of her home so well, but once again, Special Agent Jones seemed to know exactly where her thoughts had gone.

"David's going to place a quick call back to our office," he told her. He risked a glance over to his partner, who already had his phone out to bring up the number, before turning his full attention back to the scared, young woman sat opposite him. "We're gonna ask for a protective detail to be put on your home. Hopefully that way, we'll see whoever it is that's watching the house."

Emma nodded her understanding but she didn't look overly reassured. As David excused himself to call in the request, Killian leaned over the small table to rest his hand comfortingly on her arm. "You'll be safe here, Emma. We know that at the moment, this person doesn't want to hurt you. It's unlikely that they'll try and get into the house anytime soon. Most of these kinds of perpetrators prefer to watch the object of their affection from a distance. They do these awful things to get your attention, because they're too shy to confront you about how they feel. They get their kicks from voyeurism, because it seems like some kind of grand romantic gesture to them. The detail outside will be there to watch, but they will also be armed, just in case you need them. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed softly. "What um… what about when I need to leave the house? I have a tour starting in less than forty days. I can't let those fans down."

"I'm confident that by the time your tour starts, we'll have this guy in custody and ready to face trial," he promised. "You coming forward the way you have, has _really_ helped us to connect some dots with this case."

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a moment longer, before David made his way back into the room to confirm that the security detail were already on their way, and would be in place by the time the two senior agents left that evening.

Unfortunately, there were still many more questions that needed to be answered before either David or Killian could even _think_ of leaving the luxury home they had been called out to.

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 **Thanks for reading and all of your wonderful reviews and comments on this story so far.**


	6. Chapter 5

"You just know your day's gonna be shit when you start it in the morgue," David sighed, as he slipped into the room to stand beside his partner. Killian was already staring down at the mutilated body on the gurney in front of them.

"All of my days start in the morgue, Special Agent Nolan," Gold declared, as he made his way out of his office, and over to the table with a file in hand. "Very few of them turn out to be shit."

"Point taken," David conceded.

"This one, however, just might live up to your beliefs," the medical examiner continued. "I am here to officially confirm to you both that you are indeed dealing with a serial murderer."

"Of course we are."

Killian had known it was coming. David had known it was coming. Hell, most of the department had known it was coming. But Gold making it official meant that things were about to become a lot tighter for their case. The Bureau hated to use the term serial offender. They hated the press terrifying the American population with the news that a serial killer was loose on the streets. And Killian knew that this meant his day would soon involve a trip to his supervisor's office, to listen to the guy yell all of that at him for a few hours.

"As we noted at the scene, the M.O is the same for this victim as the previous two. She was tortured prior to her death. The aim seeming to be more disfigurement, than to cause extensive pain. She suffered the same pattern of wounds to the torso." Gold paused in his explanation to note the cuts made, which were almost identically placed to their first two victims. "Her left ring finger was removed post-mortem, and the injuries to her face were also made after her death. The lab has already confirmed that the note placed into her mouth was written on the same paper, in the same hand, using the same ink as your previous victims. The cause of death is once more exsanguination due to a singular wound at the throat."

Killian and David had been expecting that too. The large gash on her neck had been incredibly telling.

"I'll need more time with the body to be certain, but my preliminary examinations suggest the wounds inflicted to the body were all made with the same instrument as your first two victims, and by the same hand. Which all leads me to conclude that you have three victims whose lives have been taken by the same individual."

"Thanks, Gold. Any news yet on what weapon we're looking for?" Jones asked hopefully, as the older man passed along the file containing his current findings.

"I'd guess a standard kitchen knife, but I can't be sure, I'm afraid. The weapon was used to slash, not to stab. So we don't have a clear impression of the blade." Gold looked a little disappointed in himself for not having the answers the two agents needed, but they both knew it wasn't his fault.

"No worries, Doc. You're already given us more than enough to go on," David assured him. "A couple more things before we go..."

Gold cut him off before David could get his remaining questions out. "No, I don't have an ID yet, and no, there was no foreign DNA traces on the body. Enjoy the rest of your day, Agents"

* * *

"So, what are we thinking?" David asked, as he placed two mugs of coffee onto Killian's desk, and kicked the office door closed behind himself.

His friend looked up from where he had been tapping away on his computer, and released a hefty sigh. "Obsessive fan seems to be the best bet," Killian suggested, as he reached forward to grab his drink. "But I don't know… something about this doesn't sit right with me."

"In what way?" David had been working with Killian since he had joined the Bureau, and throughout that time, he'd come to trust his partner. If Killian suspected that something was off, David would back him up as he followed through the investigation. "Do you think the Swan girl is responsible?"

"No. I don't. She's far too vulnerable and emotional for all of this to have been an act." When David raised a brow in question, Killian added, "If she's the one committing these murders, she's one hell of an actor. And I'll resign on the spot."

"Okay. Then what are we thinking?"

"I don't know…. yet. Have we heard back from the security team?" he asked instead.

"Yeah. That's actually what I'm here for," David chuckled, as he set the file that he'd brought through with him down in front of his friend. "They said that we can have access to everything that they haven't been through yet. But they also warned that every day, they get bags of stuff to sort through, so there's a lot of it."

Killian nodded his head in understanding. He assumed that like most celebrities, Emma would get her fair share of fan mail. Thankfully, the FBI had far more staff to sort through it, and at a much faster rate, than she did.

"As we expected, they reported back that they pass along everything friendly to Miss. Swan, but everything deemed inappropriate is destroyed. They burn it, so there's no traces of it left."

"Of course they do," Jones sighed. Nobody ever recycled the stuff they needed. "Well… send a team to go and pick it up as inconspicuously as they can, and let's hope that maybe this guy decided to be nice before he went down the murder-for-love route."

"What about the stuff Miss. Swan has kept?" David asked.

Killian paused what he was doing to think his partner's question through. Emma had suggested that she kept a portion the pleasant fan mail that had been sent to her. And maybe, if they were lucky, their killer had sent her something sweet in the past that just might have some kind of identifying information on it.

"I'll stop by later tomorrow morning and pick it up. She'll probably appreciate a friendly face over complete strangers, given what she's been through. I'm just waiting for Isaacs to chew me out over this shit first."

David chuckled a little as he stood up to head back to his own desk. "I don't envy you that, Mate." He paused at the doorway, lingering for a moment before he finally asked, "Hey, Killian… do you find her attractive?"

"Find who attractive?" Killian asked, lifting his head to cock a brow up at his friend.

"The Swan girl. I mean, last time I checked, her age wasn't a necessary requirement for this investigation. You could have Googled that."

"What do you want me to say?" he defended, a little too fiercely. "She's a pretty girl. I have eyes. Of course I find her attractive. Are you saying that you don't?"

"I'm married," David countered.

"Yeah. And you also have eyes. Being married doesn't mean you automatically stop finding other people attractive."

David conceded that point with a sharp bob of his head, before opening his mouth to ask something else. Unfortunately for him, their supervisor beat him to it with a yell of, "Jones. My office. Now!" from the other side of the bullpen.

"And there it is," Killian sighed, as he gathered up everything that he had so far on the investigation.

"Good luck, Mate," David said instead, as he moved aside to let Killian pass.

He was halfway around the room before a thought suddenly occurred to him, and he called out, "Hey, Dave? Find out who her lawyer is for me? I want him or her brought in for questioning."

"You think the lawyer did it?" David asked.

"No. I just wanna know what law school in this country thinks that they should be teaching their students to advise their clients to destroy evidence in a criminal case."

David nodded his agreement as he watched his friend knock once on the door to the office of their supervisor, before heading inside to present their case so far.

* * *

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 **Special thanks go to my gust reviewers, hookedmom, Luna, Alexa, Nuggett and all the others. I'm sorry I can't reply to you all in-person.**


	7. Chapter 6

"Well, you look like shit," Ariel declared, as she swept into Emma's home the next morning.

"You would too, if you were living my life right now," Emma mumbled back, while she closed the door behind her assistant.

She'd been awake half the night - again. Every time she closed her eyes, the images of those bodies flashed behind them once more. It had taken her one-and-a-half bottles of her best whiskey, and three hours, before she'd finally fallen asleep. But as the alcohol had worn off, the dreams had started, and Emma had once again bolted awake as her nightmares returned.

"You need to shower before the team gets here," Ariel instructed, while making herself comfortable on the sofa. "We have two interviews to record this morning, and a live performance to get through. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I'm perfectly capable of that, thank you." Emma knew that everyone thought she was going through some kind of breakdown. She also knew that because of her age, they all seemed to think that they knew what was best for her. But Emma's patience was at its limit, and she was in no mood to be treated like the stupid child everyone assumed her to be.

"We don't have all day."

She bit down on her tongue as she turned on her heels to head for the comfort of her shower. The last thing she wanted to do that day was promotional work. She wasn't ready to deal with people after everything that had happened recently. But Emma also didn't want to let her fans down. She knew that they were excited about the new single she was releasing at the start of the following week. And they were even more excited about the tour that would soon be following it. If she cancelled all of her promotional work this close to the opening date, they would begin to worry.

And that was not how Emma wanted to repay her fans for all of their support.

Before she could leave her lounge, there was a sharp buzz from her front gate that signalled someone else's arrival at the house.

"I'll get that," Ariel declared, as she rose from her seat. "It's probably just the stylists arriving a little early. Go and shower."

"Yes, Ma'am," Emma mocked, as she rolled her eyes in her assistant's direction, and headed for the privacy of her bathroom. As much as she wasn't looking forward to spending the majority of her morning pretending that everything was normal, the idea of washing off last night's dream was highly appealing to her.

* * *

When Emma eventually left her bathroom, she was dressed the way she always was, when she knew a team of stylists would be waiting for her. She'd left her hair damp, to hang in loose waves around her shoulders, and she'd pulled on a pair of nude panties, before wrapping a white fluffy robe around her body.

"Okay. I fucking showered," she declared to Ariel, as she made her way through to the lounge. "Are you happy now?" But Emma stopped dead in her tracks when her eyes fell on the man sitting next to her assistant on the sofa. He was certainly _not_ part of her glam squad.

"Um, Emma… there's an FBI Agent here to see you," Ariel explained, as she looked between the two of them curiously. Emma could already see the questions forming in the redhead's mind.

"Special Agent Jones," she greeted. "Has something happened?"

"Good morning, Emma. Do you think we could maybe speak in private?" he asked, as he rose to his feet.

Killian flicked a brief look over to where Ariel was still sat, before bringing his eyes back to the young woman he had come to see. Her assistant didn't look too happy to be dismissed so easily, but she left anyway, closing the door to the lounge behind her as she went.

Killian gestured for Emma to take a seat on the couch he'd just risen from, and waited until she had carefully arranged herself, and the robe she was wearing, before he took his own. "I know this isn't the best timing," he began, as he picked a spot on the wall just over her left shoulder, and fixed his eyes on it.

 _Of course the pretty young popstar would be walking around her house in nothing but a short bathrobe when he arrived._

 _That was just his luck._

"But we'd like to see the fan mail that you've kept, if at all possible?"

"The good stuff?" Emma wondered. "Why?"

"There's a small chance that our offender could have begun his obsession by sending you sweet messages, and then progressed into the more aggressive and unstable ones you've recently been receiving, when he felt he wasn't getting enough of your attention. If that's happened, then we can use those letter to build up a clearer image of the mentality of the person we're looking for. We're also hoping that in the past, this individual might have been a little more careless with their correspondence, and left some kind of clue as to their identity in their messages."

"They're um… they're in my studio," she explained, pointing to one of the doors behind her shoulder that Killian hadn't been through, the last time he'd visited the house. "Do you want them now?"

"If I could."

Emma watched as Agent Jones averted his eyes while she stood and tightened the belt on her robe, before he followed her down the hall to her studio.

"I um… I have some promotional work to do today," she told him, feeling the need to explain why she was dressed the way she was. "I thought you were my team of stylists. There's no point getting dressed for them when they're just gonna undress you as soon as you get in the room."

"I wouldn't know that. I'm probably the _least_ stylish person in the world," he joked, hoping to keep the tone light.

Although he'd never say it, Killian could see the haunted look that still lingered behind Emma Swan's eyes. Without makeup, the circles underneath them looked deeper and darker. And he had spotted the two empty bottles on top of the liquor cabinet in the lounge too.

"Oh, I don't know," she teased, as she turned back to look at him over her shoulder. "That black sweater's doing a lot for you right now."

Killian looked down at himself and frowned. The sweater he was wearing was nothing special. It probably cost less than anything Emma had ever owned in her entire lifetime. But it was easy to move in, and cheap to replace if he ended up putting holes in it. For that reason alone, he had an entire closet full of them for work.

As Emma pushed open a heavy looking wooden door, he snapped his mind away from fashion, and back to the job he was supposed to be doing. "Jesus fuck," he muttered to himself, as he took in the soundproofed room he was now stood inside of. Killian would be willing to bet that the recording equipment alone cost more than everything he owned, including his beloved car. It didn't seem fair to him that a twenty-four-year-old woman had managed to build such a top-of-the-range recording studio, in her multi-million-dollar mansion, while his brother was struggling to decide between paying his rent or buying food for his daughter that week.

"This is everything I've kept," she told him, as she pointed to one large wall that had been covered in letters, drawings and pictures.

Killian was rather touched to see the amount that she had pinned to it, after his initial thoughts about her approach to fan mail. There were well over a thousand items on that wall, and it was going to take him a while to get them all down, and bagged for evidence.

"I'll um… I'll get these back, won't I?" Emma asked nervously, as her eyes flew over the shrine she'd built to her fans.

"Yes, of course. As soon as the investigation is over, we'll bring them back to you."

"Good." Emma nodded her head decisively, but said nothing else as she watched Agent Jones browse the top layer of letters and pictures. "I um, I should probably go and start getting ready. Will you be okay here?"

"Yeah. I'll take good care of everything and get it all down as quickly as I can for you," he promised.

"Thanks." Emma left without another word, closing the door softly behind herself as she did.

Killian sighed as he brought a hand up to massage his temples. Fucking David had been teasing him all morning about his supposed crush on Emma Swan. Killian was a thirty-two-year-old man, he was too old to have a crush on a pretty blonde popstar.

Especially one that was caught up in the middle of what could become one of the country's worst serial killing sprees in modern history.

"Focus on the job, and not on the girl," he told himself, as he reached into his pocket for the stash of evidence bags he always carried, and another set of latex gloves.

* * *

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	8. Chapter 7

"Special Agent Jones?"

Killian turned at the sound of his title to find Emma lingering in the doorway to the studio. She had changed out of the small bathrobe she'd been wearing before, and was now dressed in a bright orange skirt that fell to the middle of her thighs; and a white t-shirt with thin, black, horizontal stripes, embellished with two birds made from gold sequins. A black blazer and a pair of black studded pumps completed her look, along with the trademark bold red lipstick she was never seen without. The outfit was every inch business casual, and yet still managed to reflect the young and bubbly personality that he'd seen shining through in all of Ellie's posters of the popstar.

"Yes, sorry?" he asked, pulling his eyes away from the long expanse of her bare legs.

"I just wanted to let you know that I was headed out now. Do you know how much longer you'll be?"

"I can come back when you're not busy," he offered. Killian knew that he would be uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger in his home, while he wasn't present. And he didn't want to be the cause of any more distress for Emma, given what she had already been through.

"It's okay. You can finish here. I mean, it's not like you're planning to go through my underwear drawer and sell my panties on eBay, or anything." She forced a laugh but he could tell from the sound of it that something wasn't quite right with the joke she had made.

"Has someone _actually_ done that to you before?"

Emma flicked her glance down to the shiny points of her shoes, before bringing her eyes back up to meet his gaze once more. "Yeah. I was on tour in Brazil at the time. Some guy broke into my hotel room and stole all of my dirty laundry. My underwear turned up on eBay a few days later."

Killian's stomach twisted a little at her confession. The more he learned about Emma Swan, the more she surprised him. He couldn't even begin to imagine how violated she must have felt after such an incident.

"Did you report it to the police?" he pushed.

"Yeah. They found the guy responsible. I have a restraining order against him that's still in effect."

Killian nodded his understanding but pulled out a small notepad nonetheless. "Do you mind if I take his name?"

"Do you think he's behind all of this?" Emma wondered.

"Honestly, probably not," he admitted. "But I'd rather explore every avenue we have and rule the obvious out, than leave something uninvestigated that comes back to bite us in the ass."

Emma nodded her head in agreement as she said, "That makes sense. My um, my lawyer is coming over to lock up when you're finished, and can give you the name then?"

"That's perfect. I actually need to speak with him when he's available."

"She," Emma chuckled. "Regina Mills. My lawyer's a she."

"My apologies."

Emma stood in silence for a moment and Killian followed suit, just watching as her eyes darted around the room, seeing nothing and everything all at once. He suspected that there was something more she wanted to say, but before she could voice her opinion, someone called her name from another room in the house.

"I should go," she told him unnecessarily. "Thanks for coming to do this, Agent Jones."

"I promise I'll make sure everything is returned in the condition that it left this room in."

Killian wasn't a handwriting expert, but from what he'd seen so far, none of the fan mail on Emma's wall matched the writing on the packages she had been sent. But the content of some of the letters he had seen so far had his mind forming a different image of Emma Swan, than the one he'd first built when he'd pulled up to her home. Some messages spoke of encounters from previous years, or even personal correspondence the star had exchanged with people who had reached out to her. From everything he'd seen that morning, Killian was starting to realize that Emma's fan base meant a lot to her, and not just because of the money they made her.

Emma lingered for a moment longer before she turned gracefully on her heels and left the room. Killian waited until he could no longer hear the click of her shoes on the wooden flooring, before he returned to carefully removing each piece of paper from the wall, and depositing them into secure evidence bags.

* * *

Emma knew that she shouldn't, but as everyone in the living room began clearing out of the space, she turned to her liquor cabinet and poured herself a small glass of vodka. The burn of the alcohol was sharp and harsh, exactly what she needed to get her mind away from the images it liked to keep at the very front of her focus, and on the day she had ahead of her.

Their first stop was at the Good Morning America studios, where she would be giving a live interview to promote her new single, the up-coming album it was taken from, and the tour she had planned.

It wasn't the first live televised interview she had given, and Emma knew that it wouldn't be her last. But she couldn't stop the fear from creeping in as she climbed into the back of her car for the drive to the studio. The media hadn't yet made the connection between the murder spree currently taking place in the country, and herself. But she wasn't naïve enough to believe they never would.

She also wouldn't put it past them to spring it on her in a live televised interview either.

"Are we gonna talk about it?" Ariel asked suddenly, startling Emma out of her thoughts and back to the present.

"Talk about what?" she asked.

"The FBI agent in your home. What the hell was all of that about? Is there something going on that I need to be aware of?" she demanded.

Emma knew that the right thing to do would be to confess to Ariel everything that had happened in the last few weeks. When the connection was eventually made, she knew that her assistant would be in the best position to deal with the fallout. And if she was caught off guard, that wouldn't help Emma's situation.

But she couldn't bring herself to admit that she was the one responsible for the deaths of the people currently being attributed to a serial killer. Saying it out loud again would make it more real, and she wasn't ready to deal with everything that came from that confession.

Emma was barely holding herself together as it was.

So instead she told Ariel, "It's nothing important. And nothing I can speak of, I'm afraid. I'll let you know if that changes, though."

Ariel didn't look convinced, but she had been working with Emma long enough to know not to push the issue. "You'd tell me if you were in trouble, right?" she asked instead.

"Of course I would. I'm not about to be arrested anytime soon," Emma assured the redhead. "So you have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"I wouldn't be so certain of that," Ariel mumbled quietly, but she quickly changed the subject to the list of pre-approved questions that had been negotiated with the studio already. That way, Emma would have the perfect answers to them fresh in her mind, when she sat down in front of the cameras.

* * *

 **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for the December 2012 Lucky Magazine feature.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	9. Chapter 8

Of course the show was reporting on the murders when Emma arrived on set, ready for her own segment. It was all the media seemed to be talking about these days, so she really should have expected it. But that didn't stop the nerves from kicking in as she listened to the anchors explain what little they knew to the public, and the advice that had been issued from the FBI to anyone with information.

Thankfully, over the years since she'd signed with Sony Music, Emma had gotten better at putting on a brave face. So when she was called on to the set, ready for her interview, she walked on confidently, with a smile and wave for the audience and cameras.

"It's lovely to see you again," Jennie greeted, as she leaned in to press a kiss to Emma's cheek, before inviting her to take a seat. "How are you?"

Inside, Emma's mind was screaming, _I'm scared and alone and I don't know how to cope._ But instead, what she said was, "I'm good, thanks. It's a beautiful day in Los Angeles, and I know there are some fans outside waiting to say hi when I'm done here. So it's all good. How are you?"

She tried her best to listen to whatever it was Jennie was saying, but Emma's mind was reeling once more. Agent Jones had suggested that whoever was behind the attacks could have once been a loyal fan of hers. He could be in the small crowd of people outside waiting to speak with her, and she would never know it. How was she ever expected to interact with her fans normally again, knowing that one of them was a serial killer?

She reached for the glass of water that had been set on the small table for her, in an attempt to cover her nerves, and shake off those unwelcome and intrusive thoughts.

"So, tell us about the album," Jennie encouraged.

At least this was something Emma was good at. She liked talking about her music. She just wished interviewers would focus on _that_ more than on other aspects of her life. "It's um, it's a little different to what I've done in the past," she admitted. "It feels more mature than my last album, and I'm really proud of how it's turned out. For me, it's a musical representation of the changes I've been through since recording Wake Up Call."

"And you have the title track from the album releasing this Friday, with most experts predicting it will chart in the top three. How does that kind of support feel?"

"It never really stops feeling surreal," she chuckled. "I hate to admit this, but I'm the kind of music listener who only buys what interests me. So I purchase lots of singles and very few albums from my favorite acts. I hardly ever pre-order anything. Knowing that I have fans who believe so much in me that they're willing to place pre-orders _before_ they've even heard the music, is just astounding. I feel really lucky to have so many wonderful people in my corner."

"That truly does sound overwhelming," Jennie chimed in, although Emma assumed that the woman had no idea how astounding and humbling that kind of support could be. "Are you doing anything over the weekend to celebrate, assuming that the track does chart well?"

Emma laughed a little awkwardly. In the past, her team had insisted on throwing parties for her to celebrate landing the Billboard top spot. But this time around, nobody had suggested any kind of celebration, and Emma wasn't in the mood to create her own. "No, not this time," she replied diplomatically. "We're preparing for a world tour, so most of our efforts have been focused on making that as fantastic as it possibly can be."

"Of course. You're beginning that in May, right? Tell us a little more about what we can expect to see."

These were the types of questions Emma much preferred to answer. While she had a whole team of people who were busy planning the tour to perfection, she had been involved in every single stage of that process, and she knew it well. Performing on stage, while terrifying, was also electrifying. It was her favorite part of her job, unlike the countless repetitive interviews she was expected to give.

"Yes, our first date is the eighth of May, in Glendale. From there we have fifty-eight dates spanning North America, Europe, Asia and Australia, ending in November in New Zealand. A lot of work has gone into the shows, so we really hope the fans enjoy them as much as we've enjoyed preparing for them."

"Doing that many shows, does it ever get boring or lonely?" Jennie pressed.

Emma chewed on her bottom lip for a moment as she thought through her answer, before she gave it. "It never gets boring. Even though the set list is the same for each show, every one is different. The fans all give each stadium a different feel and atmosphere to perform in. That's what I love most about the tours. You never really know what's gonna happen until you're up on that stage. Of course, there are always moments where you feel lonely. I think that applies to every human being, regardless of what they're doing in life. But I'm blessed to be surrounded by a wonderful team of people who help keep me from feeling too homesick. And I enjoy travelling, so that's an added bonus to the tours for me."

"Of course."

Jennie nodded her head as if she could possibly understand what performing to hundreds of thousands of people felt like. Emma doubted that her comfortable job as a talk-show host, based in a television studio, felt anywhere near the same way.

"Before we let you go, I just have to ask… is there anyone special in your life right now?"

Emma had known the question was coming, even though it wasn't on the preapproved list. It had been asked at pretty much every interview she'd ever given, since splitting up with her ex, Graham. And while she and Graham had remained good friends, Emma wasn't at all interested in getting back together with him the way the media seemed to be.

"Nope. Not right now." She fixed what she hoped was a pleasant smile onto her face, as she explained, "With the release and tour dates fast approaching, I don't have time to eat some days, let alone to date anybody new. I just want to focus on my career right now. When I meet the right person, I'm sure it will be at the right time."

"Well, that's about all we have time for today. Thanks for joining us, Emma. I know you have a busy day ahead of you." Jennie turned her attention back to the camera in front of her, reeling off the information about Emma's album release and tour dates, before giving a quick rundown on what was left for the program.

Emma waited patiently until the director called cut on their section before making her escape as calmly as she possibly could.

"That went well," Ariel told her, handing over a bottle of water for Emma to take a sip from.

God how she wished it was vodka.

"The fans outside are waiting to see you, so we'll stop there for a moment so you can sign and take a few pictures, and then it's off to the next appointment."

Emma swallowed back everything left in the bottle, hoping that if she pretended hard enough that it was something stronger, it would give her the confidence to face those fans like she used to. Because right then, she couldn't stop wondering if one of them was out there killing people in her name.

* * *

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	10. Chapter 9

"Miss Mills?"

"Yes?" Regina asked, as she turned towards the strange man standing in the center of her friend's living room.

"Special Agent Jones with the FBI. I'd like to ask you to accompany me back to the office, if you would?" Killian flashed her his badge for inspection before pocketing it once more. He fixed a look on his face that told the other woman his question was more of an order than a request.

"And what's this about?" Regina Mills asked. "Has my client been charged with a federal offense?"

"No, Miss Swan has done nothing wrong. We just have a few questions we'd like to ask you about an ongoing investigation." He offered her the sweetest smile he could manage, as he made a move to head for the front door.

"I can find my own way to your office, Agent Jones. There are some documents here that I need to collect before locking up. As I'm sure you can imagine, in this industry, wasted time can be costly."

"That's fine," he assured her. "Just make sure you arrive no later than an hour after I leave this house. I have a series of homicides to investigate, so while I appreciate your deadlines, I'd ask you to respect my own."

Killian left the house before Regina could say anything else. He'd seen plenty of her type before, during his time with the FBI. She was the kind of woman that could come across as sweet and innocent when she needed to be, but was really only interested in one thing in life.

Protecting her cash flow.

* * *

When Regina arrived at the office, Killian felt absolutely no remorse for having one of the other agents escort her down to the interrogation room and leave her there, while he spoke with the team in the labs.

"Whatcha got for me?" he asked, as he pushed his way into the large room.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Victor sighed, standing up to make his way over to where the agent was standing. "The fingers are all positive matches for your victims, but I think we were all expecting that."

A number of heads inside the room bobbed in agreement, before Victor added, "We've dusted the boxes for prints. The same two sets appear on each one. One matched the sample that Emma Swan provided us with, and the other is currently unknown. But given Miss Swan's statement, I assume that they will match with the lawyer."

"Nothing else?" Killian asked. He knew that he was grasping at straws. The killer had left the scene forensically immaculate, so it was unlikely that he'd have been careless when it came down to the packages he'd sent to Emma.

But Killian needed some kind of hope, because as things currently stood, the FBI was nowhere near landing on a suspect for their newest serial killer.

"As you predicted, the notes were written on the same kind of paper, with the same ink, in the same hand as those found inside of your victims' mouths. But as you know, both the pens and the paper are sold in virtually every store all over the country, so we can't trace those back to anyone. Sorry, Jones."

"Don't be," Killian sighed. "Keep up the good work, Vic."

"You too, Jones," he told the agent, handing over his reports before he turned to make his way back to whatever it was that he'd been working on, before Killian had interrupted him.

* * *

"Finally. Do you have any idea how long I've been sitting here, Agent Jones? I should bill you for my time," Regina snapped, as she folded her arms over her chest.

"I'm sorry that my murder investigation is interrupting your day," he threw back at her, before calmly taking his seat on the opposite side of the table. Killian carefully arranged the files he had in front of him before reaching over to start the audio recording of the interview.

"Okay, Miss Mills. I am obligated to inform you that you are not being charged with anything. You've been asked to give this interview today just to help aid our investigation. If at any time you wish to stop, we can do so. But I must warn you that should you refuse to cooperate with us, and our investigation finds any evidence of illegal activity on your part, I will be forced to have you charged so we can begin this interview all over again, on the record. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she sighed, offering the agent one of her best fake smiles.

"Do you recognize this package, Miss Mills?" he asked. Killian pulled out one of the evidence images of the most recent parcel Emma Swan had received, before he slid it across the table for her to see.

"Should I?" she countered.

"Let me rephrase that for you. If I asked a judge for a warrant for your finger prints right now, and compared them to the second set found on _this_ box," he began, tapping his finger on the image. "Would they match?"

" _That's_ what this is all about?" she scoffed. "Some elaborate prank? Doesn't the FBI have better things to do with their time?"

"You call a severed finger in a box an elaborate prank? We've already run the tests, Miss Mills. We know they were real. And I think _you_ know that too. So what I'm wondering is why you'd advise your client to destroy evidence in a potential criminal case, when you know the Bar will have your license for doing so."

"You have no way to prove that I knew that," Regina reminded him. "All I did was advise my client on how best to deal with what I believed to be an elaborate prank. Miss Swan is a multi-million dollar recording artist. She's been on the receiving end of pranks before, Agent Jones. I didn't want to see her damage that impeccable reputation she has, or the future of her career, at the expense of someone who believes themselves to be a joker."

"And that would have nothing to do with how much she pays you, right?" he asked. Because the lawyer's answers absolutely reeked of her own greed, even if she was covering it well.

"There's nothing wrong with protecting my own interests in my client, is there?"

"There is when it involves the destruction of evidence in a criminal case," he reminded her.

"As I said before, Agent Jones, I was unaware that it was an _actual_ severed finger inside of that box. I certainly never touched the thing. Now… is that all you need from me today? Because as I informed you earlier, I'm incredibly busy and my time is very valuable."

"We'll need your finger prints before you go, just to confirm that they match the ones found on the box," he told her.

"And I assume one of your lackeys will do that for you." Regina stood from her chair with another of her fake smiles, as she shot a condescending look down to the FBI agent. "Oh, and the next time you wish to question my client, call me first," she told him, before tossing her card down onto the table and storming out of the room, in a whirlwind of expensive pant suit and flowery perfume.

* * *

David found his partner still sitting in the interrogation room fourteen minutes later, reviewing the recording from the interview with Regina Mills.

"How'd it go?" he asked, cringing a little as he did.

"I don't like that woman."

"You think she's behind all of this?" David wondered.

"No. I just think she's a greedy, self-serving, terrible excuse for a human being, who isn't at all interested in protecting her clients, but instead, in protecting her bank balance."

"Doesn't that description fit most of the lawyers in this town?" David chuckled.

Killian laughed along with him as he gathered up his files and stood to head back to his office.

"This is why I keep you around, Dave."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	11. Chapter 10

Killian sighed as he pushed away from his desk and threw a look down to the clock on his computer screen. He'd been reviewing all of the different reports that had landed on his desk, while he'd been interviewing Regina Mills. But there was still nothing that would even hint in the direction of a viable suspect.

He stood up to stretch his legs for a moment, aware that he'd probably been at his desk for far too long. The slight rumbling of his tummy had him leaving the comfort of his office, to run down to the vending machines on the first floor, and he hoped that a little distance might help him come back to his work with fresher eyes.

With an energy bar and a can of soda in hand, he made his way slowly back up to his department, before dropping down into his chair once more. Killian still wasn't quite in the mood for going back to his reports though, so he decided to do something else productive, and typed Emma Swan into Google to see what kind of results it would give him.

 _Maybe the obsessive psychopath had been professing his love for her on social media?_

His first hit was her official Twitter account, but a brief scroll through her replies showed that most of them were to others in the industry that she was obviously friends with, and the occasional question and answer session that she'd taken part in. He still made a note to have their tech team go through everything just to be safe, though.

The next link Google provided him with was for her Facebook account. The very first thing posted to the top of the page appeared to be live video that was about to begin. Killian pulled his chair a little closer to his desk as he hit the button to make the video full screen, and then waited to see what it was that she'd felt the need to share live with her fans.

In hindsight, he should have known that it would be coverage of one of the interviews she'd given that day. After all, he'd known that she had a busy morning ahead of her, promoting her new tour. But it wasn't until the video began that he realized what was going on. And by then, it was too late for him to navigate away from the page. She already had him completely enthralled.

Emma had clearly changed between her appearances, as the orange skirt and black blazer were gone, and in their place was a black satin dress, covered in silver and purple flowers. A sheer layer of white tulle added a few inches to the bottom of the hemline, making the dress fall to the middle of her thighs. But the three-quarter length sleeves and high neckline added an air of modesty to the look, which helped to showcase her unexpected maturity.

She'd swapped her shoes for a different pair of black leather pumps, and had released her hair from the ponytail it had originally been pulled back into, allowing it to flow in slightly messy waves around her shoulders.

Killian tried hard to tell himself that her hair absolutely wouldn't look the same way, after a night spent in the arms of her lover.

As she made her way over to the small stage that had been set in her honor, he found his eyes draw back to her trademark red lips once more. Emma pulled one between her teeth to bite down on gently, before she released it to take her place in front of the audience.

She looked absolutely stunning, and she hadn't even opened her mouth to start her set yet.

But when she did, Killian knew that he was done for.

He'd heard Ellie wax poetic before about just how talented her favorite singer was, but he'd never really gone out of his way to hunt down Emma's music to listen to it himself. So hearing her perform her new single that morning, live on national television, left him completely mesmerized. Her voice was stunning against the musical accompaniment that she'd paired with the track, rising and falling effortlessly without missing a note. The lyrics themselves were much deeper than he'd expected from the person he'd initially believed to be nothing more than a materialistic young woman.

Every little part of Emma Swan was completely enchanting, but when the pieces came together to make a whole, Killian could suddenly see why she'd become one of the biggest selling recording artists of the decade.

And why she'd attracted such an obsessive following.

He also finally understood why Ellie had been so devastated and angry, when she'd been unable to convince her father to buy her a ticket for one of Emma's tour dates. Because Killian would _definitely_ pay good money to see Emma Swan perform live.

The sound of his office phone ringing cut through the room, and Killian jumped a little in surprise as it did. He'd been so caught up in watching Emma perform, he'd completely forgotten that he was still at work.

"Jones," he spoke into the handset, as he answered the call.

"Hey, it's Victor. I just wanted to let you know that your lawyer's prints matched the second set we pulled from the boxes. I'll put it into my official reports, of course, but I know how big this case is for you."

"Thanks, Vic. That's brilliant."

Killian disconnected the call as he clicked away from Emma's Facebook page and turned his attention back to the reports on his desk. Lusting over the key witness in their case wasn't going to get him anywhere, especially when there was someone still out there, killing innocent people.

He really needed to get his head in the game.

And possibly find someone willing to help him work out some of the sexual frustration, that was clearly building inside of him.

* * *

When he left work that evening, Special Agent Jones was still no closer to landing on a suspect than he had been that morning. The tech team had been sent details of Emma Swan's social media accounts, and were busy going through those to search for clues.

A quick scan of her Wikipedia page had also given him a few names of past boyfriends to bring in for questioning, but Killian wasn't hopeful that they would provide him with anything solid. Every single one of them had been pictured at some event or another, during the time of death for at least one of their victims. And Gold was certain that the murders had been the work of a single individual. But he didn't want to leave any stone unturned during his investigation.

The universe had apparently seen fit to taunt him that evening, as the moment he started the engine in his car, the radio came on playing Emma Swan's new single, and Killian couldn't bring himself to change the station.

It would feel like such a betrayal to an incredible talent.

Thankfully, his commute was not a very long one, and soon enough he was pulling into the parking garage of his building, and the spot that had been reserved for his car.

He wasn't much in the mood for food that evening, so after quickly sorting through the mail that had arrived that morning, Killian stripped down and jumped into his shower, hoping that the hot water would help to wash away all of the stress from the day. It used to work, before he'd been placed in charge of an investigation involving a series of homicides. But these days, it seemed like nothing could touch the guilt that was beginning to build in the bottom of his gut, every time another body dropped.

Killian turned off the water and toweled himself off, before making his way through to the bedroom. After pulling on a pair of shorts he climbed between the cool sheets on his bed and turned off the lights, hoping that sleep would claim him quickly.

It didn't.

* * *

The sound of his cellphone cut through the silence of the apartment, startling Killian awake and out of his dreams. He couldn't quite remember what they had been about, but he was pretty sure they had featured long, blonde sex hair.

"Yeah?" he croaked into the device, as he reached for the light on his bedside table.

"Special Agent Jones?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"It's Agent Styles, Sir. Local PD has just placed a call requesting your presence at a crime scene in Santa Monica. They've found another body."

"Send the address to my phone. I'm on my way," he told the rookie, as he disconnected the call with a sigh.

It was only three seventeen _am,_ and Killian already knew that he was in for a shit day.

* * *

 **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for a NY Post photoshoot in 2014.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	12. Chapter 11

Killian flashed his credentials at the uniformed cop that had been tasked with watching the perimeter, before ducking down under the obnoxious yellow crime scene tape, and into the alley where the latest body had been found.

All of the way over to the scene he'd been praying that the MO wouldn't match their killer. As horrendous as it sounded, he'd wanted the body to be that of a regular homicide, and worthy of its own investigation. Not just another name to add to a list of victims for his own serial killer.

But the moment Gold's eyes met his, he knew that he was shit out of luck.

"Good morning, Special Agent Jones."

"Do you ever sleep?" Killian wondered, as he dropped down to a crouch beside the body. It had once again been covered with a simple white sheet, to protect the victim's identity.

"I could ask the same of you," Gold threw back, before he removed a thermometer from the body between them. He hummed a little at the reading on the display, before making a note of the numbers on a sheet of paper to his left. When he was finished, he gently covered the section of the victim's torso once more, and then turned his attention up to the FBI agent.

"Female. If I had to guess, I'd estimate mid-to-late twenties. Wounds inflicted to both the chest and face. Cause of death appears to be exsanguination due to a single cut to her throat. Liver temp indicates she'd been dead for roughly six hours. Her left ring finger's missing."

Killian sighed as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. "And let me guess, a note balled up and placed in the mouth post mortem?"

"I was just getting to that part," Gold told him, as he reached into his kit for a pair of tweezers. He pulled back the sheet covering the young woman's face, and Killian cringed a little at the sight of it. Whoever had attacked their victim had done so with a great deal of rage. The cuts across her face looked deeper, causing some of the skin on her cheeks to peel back from the bone.

It was a brutal attack, and one that he was absolutely certain she wouldn't have deserved.

Gold gently pried her mouth open while Killian pulled out an evidence bag, ready for the medical examiner to drop the ball of wet paper into.

"I think that confirms it," he said. The guy always seemed so detached from his work, and Killian envied him that ability.

"Yeah. We haven't told the media about those notes." It was the best way for them to filter out any potential cases that may arise from copycats taking advantage of the situation. But thankfully, none had so far.

Killian hoped to God that it would stay that way.

With his preliminary examination over, Gold placed all of his equipment and folders back into his bag. He pulled off his gloves and then beckoned over his rather terrified looking assistants. "Be as careful as you can with her," he instructed, meeting each of their eyes. "I want her prepped and ready for autopsy at nine. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," they both replied quickly, before turning their attention down to the body on the ground of the dirty alley.

Killian could already see the crime scene techs lingering just behind them, waiting for the moment the body was removed so that they could begin combing the space for some kind of clue.

"I'll see you in a few hours, Jones," Gold called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he took off in the direction of where his Jaguar had been parked.

"Yeah. See you then," Killian replied, already turning to head for the small group of officers that were gathered in the space. "Which one of you was the first on the scene?" he asked loudly, interrupting their conversations.

Killian knew that the LAPD usually hated having to share their crime scenes with the FBI. They often felt that it was unfair to have some agent swoop in and claim the glory for solving their cases, when they'd put in all of the work. So he made sure that his tone, when addressing the gathered men, would make it clear that he had absolutely no time for political bullshit that morning.

"I was," one of the guys in uniform replied, stepping forward a little.

Killian inclined his head back towards the alley where he knew it would be quieter, as he asked, "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Of course not." The officer passed his hat off to the guy standing to his left, before following Killian down to a place in the alley, close to the spot where the body had been found. It was quiet enough for them to speak, and offered privacy from the lingering press, but still provided a vantage point for Agent Jones to watch the activity around him.

"Can you start at the beginning for me please?" Killian pulled out a pen and his notepad, and then dropped his back to the wall behind him, as he listened to what the young officer had to say.

It was the usual story, that he'd heard time and time again.

The call had come in at a little after two-thirty from an anonymous source, reporting a woman's body in the alley. As the officer closest to the area, Adams had responded. He hadn't gotten close to the body. He'd been able to see from a distance that the woman was already dead, and had called it in as soon as he'd made that discovery. It was Gold who had suggested contacting the FBI. The chief medical examiner had known as soon as he'd gotten close enough that they were dealing with another victim of their serial killer, and he hadn't wanted to slow the investigation down.

Killian made a note to request a copy of the call that had been placed to report the body, and another to ask for audio comparisons to be run against the previous calls they'd received. Maybe, if he were lucky, they'd find out that their killer was the one making them.

After thanking Officer Adams for his time, he headed back to check in with the lead tech out in the field. But as he'd been expecting, so far, they'd found nothing worthy of sharing with him.

By the time Killian finally climbed into his Camaro to head back home, the sun was beginning to rise in California, and he knew that he wouldn't be getting any more sleep that morning. Hopefully he'd have time for a shower, to wash away the dirt and grime from the alley he'd spent the last three hours standing around in, before he headed back to the office.

* * *

Emma groaned as she pulled herself out of bed and stumbled her way through to the bathroom. She didn't need to check her phone to know that it was late. The bright light spilling through the windows in the room told her that she'd slept her way through to the afternoon once more. (Of course, she'd had a lot of help from a bottle of Jack, when she'd woken up shaking and terrified at a little after three).

She avoided looking at her reflection in the mirrors as she turned on the shower and cranked up the heat, before stepping out of her sleep shorts and pulling off the tank top she'd slept in. The scalding hot water helped to wash away what lingered from her dreams, and cleared the fogginess around the edges of her mind.

By the time she stepped out with one large fluffy towel wrapped around her body, and another over her hair, she could almost pretend that she felt human once more.

Back in her bedroom, Emma pulled on a pair of leggings and an old band shirt, before heading down to the kitchen to start some coffee. It was only after she'd taken her first sip that she allowed herself to unlock the sliding doors in the room, and stepped outside onto her deck to enjoy the beautiful weather.

But when her foot kicked something on the ground in front of her, Emma's mug smashed to the floor, splashing hot coffee up the front of her shins.

* * *

 **Happy New Year.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	13. Chapter 12

Killian sighed as he ran the audio back once more. He'd been so sure that his latest hunch would give them something to work with. But the tech guys down in the labs were right. All three calls had been made by three different people, one of which they were pretty sure was female.

Which ruled out the idea of their killer calling in his own crimes.

"Let me guess, no matches?" David said, as he sat a coffee down in front of his friend.

"Nope. None. We have _nothing_ to go on here, David. He's leaving no forensic evidence, we have nothing to connect the victims to each other, and there are no eye-witnesses. What the hell is he doing and how is it all to protect Emma Swan?"

"Do the victims have any known ties to her at all? Are they fans? Maybe the killer got into a debate with them about her online, and things got a little heated? Has she mentioned recognizing any of them in the pictures he sent to her?"

"No, but she only saw the ones in the first box," Killian mumbled, as he threw his pen down onto his desk and slumped back into his seat. "She's probably tried hard to block out the memories of those pictures. I'll take one of each of our victims back to her and see if she recognizes them."

The last thing Killian wanted to do was take those images back to Emma Swan. He knew how much pain and suffering they had already caused her, and he didn't want to be the reason she suffered more. But they were at a point in their case now where he was running out of avenues to pursue, so he knew there was really no other choice.

Killian had just reached for his coffee mug when his cell phone started ringing beside it. He flicked a look of annoyance over to his friend, who was smugly sipping at his own drink, as he picked up the device to answer the call.

"Special Agent Jones," he greeted.

"There's been another murder."

Killian frowned as he tried to place the familiar voice on the other end of the connection. "Who is this?"

"He sent another one."

"Emma?" There was silence over the line for a moment, and Killian used the time to start pushing papers back into files and saving documents. David sat his coffee back down on the table and swiftly left the room. "Emma, is that you? Are you telling me that you got another package from our killer today?"

"Yes," she whispered again, after what seemed like a small eternity. "He's killed someone else."

"I'll be right there, Emma. I'm bringing a forensics team with me, okay? Just stay where you are and don't open that box."

The line disconnected after his words and Killian cursed into the handset before slamming it down on his desk. He pulled out some of the least traumatizing images from the set that the killer had mailed to the popstar, and slipped them into an envelope to take with him, before pushing everything else into his open desk drawer. After removing his badge and gun from another, Killian locked everything up and logged out of his computer, then grabbed his jacket to head out.

David met him at the bank of elevators with a tense look on his face. "Crime scene techs are on their way over there now. Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I need you to check in with the team sorting the fanmail. That was supposed to be next on my list of things to do today. I'll call if I need you."

David nodded his understanding before heading for the stairwell. It would get him down to the lab being used to sort through the thousands of documents they'd taken from Emma Swan's home, much quicker than it would take to wait for the elevator.

* * *

The drive over to Emma's home took longer than Killian would have liked, thanks to the early evening traffic. But when he finally flashed his badge at the guy working the gate, he was quickly waved inside. After making his way down to Emma's home at the end of the street, he parked next to the simple white van of their crime scene techs.

"You guys finished already?" he asked, as he passed by their open window.

"No answer," Victor called back. "We were hoping you could get us in."

Killian nodded his understanding. He knew that Emma was still inside of the building, but she was likely alone and terrified, so it was no big surprise that she had refused to open her door to strangers. "I'll send you a message when you can come in," he promised, before heading for the front door.

Killian pressed the bell at the side and waited for a few moments before he started banging on the wood. "Emma? It's Special Agent Jones with the FBI. Can you open the door for me, please?"

There was a moment of silence where he began to worry that she hadn't heard him, before the door slowly creaked open, with Emma's head appearing in the gap. When her eyes landed on his familiar form her entire body seemed to relax, as she pulled the door open wider.

Killian waited until he was inside, with the door firmly closed behind him, before he asked softly, "Where is it?"

"On the back deck," she replied robotically, as she tossed back the last of the amber liquid in her glass. "I haven't opened it. I haven't even touched it."

"That's okay," he reassured her. "The forensics team is already here. They'll do it for you. But _this_ … this is not the answer." He removed the glass from her shaking hand and sat it down onto the nearest flat surface. "Come and have a seat," he invited, taking hold of her upper arm gently to steer her over to the sofa.

As he pulled a little to encourage her to sit, Killian watched as Emma grimaced in pain at the movement, before quickly pulling her face together once more.

"What's wrong?" he worried. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I just spilled some coffee," she explained, keeping her eyes focused on the piece of artwork that hung over her fireplace.

"Where?"

Emma's gaze dropped down to her shins before lifting back up to the painting once more. But that was all the answer that Killian needed. He slipped off the sofa and into a crouch in front of her as he declared, "I'm gonna roll these up a little and take a look at your legs, okay?"

He waited until her eyes met his and she gave one firm bob of her head before he moved. She was terrified and likely in shock, so the last thing Killian wanted to do was touch her inappropriately without her permission.

But the moment he managed to wiggle the tight lycra up a little, her wince of pain became a full-blown cry of agony, and Killian stopped what he was doing immediately.

"Okay. I'm gonna send a message to our crime scene techs and get them in here to process that box, and then I'm calling a medic. We need to get you looked at."

"I'm fine," she protested, as she brushed away the tears that had fallen with the back of her hand.

"You are far from fine right now, Emma. But I'm worried about the burns on your legs. If you dropped scalding hot coffee there's a chance that you've done some serious damage there. We need to have those looked at by a professional. And that's not something I'm willing to debate."

He didn't give her time to protest. Instead, he stood from his place in front of her and moved off to one side to send Victor a quick message, before calling through to dispatch to ask them to send a medic out to the house as quietly as they possibly could. He knew that Emma wouldn't want to make a fuss of the incident, and the last thing he wanted to do was expose her contact with their investigation because someone had reported seeing an ambulance in the area.

After disconnecting the line, Killian slipped his phone into his pocket and walked slowly back to the sofa, before taking a seat beside her again. "Someone's on their way, Emma. It's gonna be okay," he offered reassuringly.

"No, it's not," she sobbed, as she finally turned to face him. Tears were rolling steadily down her cheeks, highlighting just how scared and tired she looked. Her exhaustion and vulnerability made her seem younger, and even though he knew he shouldn't feel the way he was, Killian wanted nothing more than to gather Emma Swan into his arms and hold her, to help ease her pain.

"Don't you get it yet, Agent Jones? _He knows._ You have agents watching the house and _he_ _knows._ He left that box on my back deck because he knew they wouldn't see it there. He knows you're watching the front of my house. And he knows how to get into my yard. _He knows everything._ "

Killian just managed to open his arms in time to catch her as she fell forward and into his embrace, sobbing loudly onto his shoulder.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	14. Chapter 13

**Sorry for the delay with this one. I had some technical issues that left me without the use of my laptop.**

* * *

Emma had been reluctant to let him go when the first knock on the door had come, and her entire body had tensed with fear in his arms. Killian managed to fish his phone out and sent a quick message to Victor, to tell him that the door was open and how to get through to the back deck, all while the young star continued to sob into his shirt.

He finally had to pry her hands off his jacket when the second knock sounded, to let the medical team into her home. But when he followed the female doctor back through to the living room, they found the pop star staring at the painting above her fireplace once more. Killian did his best to try and engage the young woman again but gave up trying when the doctor gave him a gentle nod and moved around the sofa to begin her examination.

While the medic was tending to Emma's burns, Killian excused himself to check on the progress the crime scene techs were making in the dining room.

"Same as before?" he asked, as he stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind himself. Victor handed over a pair of latex gloves and Killian pulled them on before he turned his attention to the items spread out over the plastic sheeting on the mahogany table.

"Almost," the other man replied, as he made more untidy notes on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. "The rose petals, stuffed toys, and finger in a box are all identical. But the pictures this time are much more gruesome, and the letter's different."

The pictures made sense, given the condition they'd found their last victim in. But the changes to the letter were what piqued Killian's curiosity. He picked it up from the middle of the table, where it was already sealed inside of an evidence bag, to read what it said.

 _Emma, my Love,_

 _You're exhausted! I know that the internet raved about how beautiful you looked performing the other day, but those fakers don't know you the way that I do. They couldn't see the exhaustion in your eyes._

 _Not the way that I can._

 _Nobody will EVER understand you the way that I do._

 _I have another gift for you. This one was particularly vicious after that performance, and she deserved everything she got. Those fools that blindly follow her every word will soon see the truth, Emma._

 _The whole world will!_

 _Now she's as ugly on the outside as she is on the inside._

 _I saw those men watching your home, Emma. You should be careful. They can't be trusted to keep you safe, my love. Only I can do that. But it doesn't matter. They don't know you the way that I do. They never will._

 _I hope my gift makes you happy._

 _I did it for you._

 _I do it all for you._

 _Look what you made me do, Emma!_

"Wow," Killian murmured, as he turned the sheet of paper over in his hands to see if anything else had been added to it. As he had expected, the rest was immaculately clean.

"Yeah. Your psychopath is becoming more psychotic with every kill," Victor agreed.

"What do you think he means by, 'those fools that blindly follow her every word will soon see the truth?'"

"Social media?" one of the other techs supplied, a little nervously. It was her first time working an active case with Special Agent Jones, and he was far more attractive in person than the gossip in the women's locker room had made him out to be.

"In what way?" Killian set the letter back down on the table and then turned to offer the young woman his full attention. She blushed a little under the intensity of his gaze but managed to find her voice quickly enough.

"The uh… the previous letters mentioned followers. And that's a term often used for connections made on social media. You can follow accounts and subscribe to notifications there. Maybe the victims were social media influencers?"

"Thank you. I'll get the tech team to look into that possibility."

Killian wasn't much of a social media fan, so he certainly didn't know all of the technical terms used to describe what happened there. But right now, he wasn't prepared to rule out any possibilities.

"Did you sort through the pictures yet?" he asked, as he turned his attention back to Victor.

"Yep. All photographed, bagged and tagged. Why?"

"Is there one of our victim's face that I could show to Miss Swan? She might recognize them when they're not slashed to pieces and bleeding heavily."

Victor reached for another series of sealed bags and quickly flicked through each of the images that had been included in the package before he found one of the relatively tame ones. Their victim was still clearly bound to a chair, gagged and absolutely terrified. But it was better than what the rest of the pictures had shown.

"Thanks, Man." Killian clapped him on the shoulder before he pulled off his gloves and tucked them inside of his pocket. "Gimme a shout before you leave."

"We still have the entire deck to process," Victor sighed. "We'll be here for a while."

Killian nodded his understanding. He had a feeling that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon either, which meant that he was likely to miss dinner with his brother and Ellie that evening. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to Liam, explaining that he was in the middle of a murder investigation, before tucking it back into his pocket once more as he headed for the lounge. His brother would understand. He knew just how demanding Killian's job could be. Ellie would be less understanding, given that her father and uncle had tried their hardest to keep the harsh realities of Killian's job from touching her life. Unfortunately, that often left the teenager feeling like her uncle didn't prioritize spending time with her, over his job.

When he eventually made it back to the living room, after taking a wrong turn and ending up in another bathroom, the medic was just finishing with Emma and looked to be ready to leave.

"How is she?" he asked, pulling the doctor aside.

"You mean aside from being absolutely terrified? She has second-degree burns to both legs. The fabric of her leggings held the water from her coffee against her skin, which has made the burns slightly worse than we'd usually expect to see in such a situation, but the affected areas are reasonably small. As long as she changes her dressings regularly and continues to apply the ointment I've left with her, she shouldn't find them scarring."

"Thanks, Doc."

"She's uh… she's been drinking," the doctor stated carefully, almost like she wasn't sure if she was raising her concerns with the right person. "Someone should stay with her for a while. I've given her some painkillers to take the edge off, but she's not had a full dose given the alcohol in her system. And even now, I'm reluctant to leave her unsupervised."

"I'll take care of it," Killian promised. "Can I show you out?"

"Thanks."

After ushering the medical team out of the front door, Special Agent Jones used the time to scan the area around Emma's home for anyone that might have been lingering. Their offender had already proven that he liked to watch over his idol. But the neighborhood seemed just as blissfully quiet as it had been when he'd first gotten Emma's call, which meant that either this guy was good at blending in and making himself look invisible, or he lived close by.

"Emma," Killian called out gently, as he made his way back through to the living room. He made sure to keep his footsteps heavy so that she'd hear him coming, but that didn't stop her from startling when he took the seat beside her own once more. "Emma, I know that this is tough right now, and you're probably in a lot of pain, but I need to ask you some more questions. This could be really beneficial to our investigation. It might help us finally catch this guy."

"You're not gonna catch him," she laughed bitterly. "You _literally_ have people watching my home and he still got in. It's not gonna help."

"Don't you at least want to try and help us find him before he kills someone else?" Killian snapped. "I get it. You've given up and you don't care. You're happy to drink yourself into an early grave. But I haven't, and I will do _everything_ it takes to make sure nobody else dies at the hands of this guy. So you can either answer my questions for me _here_ , or I'll take you down to the office to do it."

Emma finally pulled her eyes away from the painting above her fireplace to turn and face the man sat opposite her. Instead of the broken woman he'd seen when he'd first entered her home, Killian was faced with a fiery Emma Swan. And he took that as a small sign of progress.

"I care," she hissed at him. "Of course I care. Why do you think I called you in the first place? I'm just… I'm not _you_. I'm not… Until he sent me that first box, I'd _never_ seen a dead body before. And now, I'm getting body parts sent to me in little boxes professing some psycho's love for me. So I'm sorry for being scared right now. And I'm sorry that you think my fear is a lack of compassion for others. But spare me the help crap, Agent Jones, because you and I both know that there is _nothing_ you can do to help me right now. You don't even have a lead to chase on this guy. It could literally be any _one_ of the almost forty million people in this state."

"Then help me come up with something," he begged. "Sit down with me and go over what we have. _You_ are the person that connects this entire investigation, Emma. So I'm willing to bet my car on the fact that _you'll_ be the one to help point us in the right direction at last. _Help me_ , Emma. If not for yourself, then for the people this guy's attacking. Help me bring closure to the families of those young girls who have been killed."

He had fully expected her to avoid his gaze after making such an impassioned plea, but Emma Swan surprised him once more. Instead, she held his eyes and gave one firm nod of her head, as she whispered a soft, "okay," into the space between them.

Killian released a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding before he stood from the sofa once more. "Okay. How um… how about some tea before we get started?"

"I'd uh… I'd prefer coffee," she whispered softly, as she stretched the arms of her sleeves down over her hands self-consciously. "I never got to drink mine earlier."

"Coffee it is," he agreed, turning to head for the kitchen. Killian stopped just as he was about to cross the threshold into the hallway and turned back to see Emma watching him intently. "You um… you might wanna talk me through using your coffee machine first."

Emma snorted out a laugh at the look of complete confusion on his face.

It was perhaps the first time he'd seen that spark of life behind her eyes since they'd met.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 14

Killian waited until he had two mugs of coffee sat on the table in front of them both before he pulled out his phone and the notebook that he always carried with him.

"Do you mind if I record this?" he asked. At Emma's confused look he added, "It's just for clarity. I might miss something you tell me now because I'm distracted, or pass over a detail that I don't think is important and later proves to be a big help to us. Nobody else will ever hear this. I can promise you that. It'll be destroyed the second the trial is over."

The young woman nodded her agreement as she reached for her coffee mug, holding the ceramic cup between both of her palms to allow the warmth of the beverage to soothe her soul.

"Thank you, Emma." Killian fiddled with his phone for a moment to start the recording and then spoke directly into the microphone. "It's June twelfth, twenty-eighteen, and this is an informal chat with Emma Swan regarding the current serial homicides taking place in the state of California." He set the device down on the coffee table to his left before reaching into his jacket to pull out one of the images that he'd bought over to the house with him.

"I know this isn't easy, but I was wondering if you could take a look at this picture for me, Emma? It's of our first victim."

Emma looked like she was willing the image in his hand to spontaneously combust as she saw him extend it in her direction. After a moment of glowering down at it, she finally reached out with trembling fingers to take the picture from him. But the instant she realized who had taken the picture, her face furrowed with her anguish.

"Focus on her features, Emma. Not on what's happening in the image."

She tried to do as she was asked, but even then she could see the scream forming around the woman's gag, and the look of sheer terror in her eyes.

"No," she eventually whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know her. Has she not been identified yet?"

"We've identified two of our victims so far," Killian assured her. "This is Juliet Holding. Does that name ring a bell at all?"

Emma shook her head before she could voice her answer, but stopped suddenly as a memory tugged at the back of her mind. "Wait. What did you say her name was?"

"Juliet Holding."

Emma definitely knew that name. She just couldn't quite place where she'd heard it before. "Show me another one," she commanded, hoping that maybe the next victim's identity would help to trigger that memory.

Killian passed over another image, this time of a redheaded woman, bound in the same way and to the same chair, in what appeared to be the same location.

"I know her," she whispered. "I know I do. I just don't know _how._ "

This was exactly what Killian had been hoping for. It was why he'd brought the images with him. "What about this one?" he asked, handing over another picture, this time of their third victim. "Her name's Imogen Ward."

"Yes! She's a blogger." Emma's eyes snapped up to meet his and the relief behind her gaze almost floored him. For all of her reluctance when they'd first met, it was obvious that she wanted to help where she could. Even if it was only to protect herself.

"She uh… she's a fashion blogger. She didn't like an outfit I wore for an event a few months back and completely tore it apart online. I didn't read her article, but plenty of people sent it to me."

Killian's pen flew over his page as he made notes on what she was saying while he asked, "Is it possible that the other women are also bloggers?"

"Of course. There are thousands of them out there. I don't know them all by name, though. I just remember this one because it happened recently."

"Has anyone else ever written anything negative about you?"

Emma arched a brow in his direction that said he was asking a stupid question, and Killian sighed in agreement.

"Point taken. Do you maybe remember any in particular? Anything exceptionally vicious or nasty?"

"Uh…" Emma tried to think back on anything memorable that had happened during her career, but most of those moments were positives, not negatives. She tried to always focus on the good in her life, instead of dwelling upon the bad. "No. I don't… yes. _Yes!_ The redhead. She wrote an article about me not long after my break into the industry. She called my music 'cheesy gimmicks aimed at brainwashing teenage girls into thinking they want to be me, and teenage boys into thinking that they want to be with me.' I don't remember her name, though." Emma only remembered the article because, at the time, it was the first piece of negative press she'd received. She'd cried herself to sleep after reading it through – twice.

"That's fine," Killian assured her. "I can have a member of our team look into it. And if it's okay with you, we'll do a search for any articles or blogs that may have written negative pieces about you, and see if we can link them back to any of our other victims."

"Oh, God. Do you think that's what he's doing? Is he killing people that voice a negative opinion about me online?"

"It's entirely possible. His letters suggest a desire to protect you, so this might just be his twisted way of doing that," Killian explained.

It wasn't much, but it was the closest they'd come to a break in their case, so he'd take it. It also gave them a starting place to identify potential targets for any future attacks that could take place. Killian only hoped that Emma's detractors were in the extreme minority online. The FBI didn't have the resources to surveil dozens of people at once, especially when they were in the middle of a large murder investigation.

"Do you wanna take a small break," he asked, as he reached for his phone to stop and save the recording.

"Please." Emma took a few heavy gulps of her coffee as she tried not to imagine how many people would have inadvertently put themselves on some psycho's kill list just because of her. "Do you um… do you think I should issue a public statement?" she asked quietly. "I could ask him to stop? Or I could warn people to be more careful about what they post online?"

Killian considered the question carefully before he gave his reply. This version of Emma Swan was vastly different to the one he'd first met, and it took him a moment to realize why. It wasn't fear that was motivating her actions, it was trust.

Emma Swan trusted him, and because she did, she was opening herself up to him a little more.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he told her gently. "There are some people in this world that will take advantage of situations like this one. They'll use the hysteria to commit their own crimes and hope we lay the blame for them at the feet of our killer."

Emma nodded her head in understanding. She'd seen enough crime documentaries to know how true that was.

"Right now, you're our secret weapon, Emma. Nobody outside of the bureau knows about your connection to the crimes. As long as it stays that way, we have a better chance of making sure that we don't waste our resources in the wrong areas." Killian waited until Emma caught his eyes before he offered her a small smile of encouragement. "Thank you, though. For wanting to help."

"I'm not as heartless as some people seem to believe I am," she threw back at him. "I just… I wish this wasn't happening. I don't want anyone to suffer, Agent Jones. Especially not for me. I'm not worth that."

* * *

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	16. Chapter 15

After spending over an hour processing the back deck and the package that Emma had received, Killian was the one to finally show Victor and his team out of the building. They'd pulled a number of different fingerprints from the area, but nobody was hopeful that they'd reveal any leads. It was obvious that plenty of people had used the space before, leaving their prints behind. And as everyone had been expecting, there was nothing on the box or the items inside of it.

Killian took a slight detour on his way back to the living room, stopping to grab a couple of bottles of water from the kitchen. He knew that Emma had been drinking again that morning, and with the burns on her legs, he didn't want her to dehydrate. He was expecting to find her staring at the picture hanging over her fireplace again when he returned, but this time, Emma's eyes tracked his form the moment he came into view and stayed locked on him until he took his seat beside her.

"Your girlfriend called," she said, nodding her head at where his phone was still sat on the coffee table.

"I haven't had a girlfriend in three years, so that would be an impressive feat if she had," he chuckled, reaching for the device to check his call log. He wasn't overly surprised to find Ellie's name on the screen in red.

"Sorry. I just assumed…"

"It's okay," Killian assured her. He'd have probably made the same assumption if some random guy had Emma called her during their interviews. "Ellie's my niece. She's a big fan of yours, remember?"

Emma looked a little confused for a moment before her eyes brightened with understanding. "Oh yeah. God, I'm so sorry. It completely slipped my mind."

"No worries." Killian swiped away the missed call notification and then pulled up the voice recording app once more before setting his phone back down onto the table.

"Don't you wanna call her back?"

"Not right now. I'm missing family dinner so she's not gonna be happy with me, and I'm not much in the mood to either be yelled at or guilt-tripped by a teenager," he sighed. Killian already felt bad enough for missing another of their dinner dates, but he also felt terrible for the families of the two victims they hadn't yet identified. They would never get the chance to enjoy a family dinner with their daughter or sister again. And it was that knowledge that kept him focused on doing his job.

"We could always pick this up again tomorrow?" Emma offered.

"It's fine. It's done now," he told her, as he flipped to a blank page in his notepad and reached for his phone to start it recording once more. "Okay. I want to change the topic this time, if that's alright with you?" When Emma nodded her agreement, Killian asked, "How often does your back deck get used?"

"Often. We use it for parties and things like that. I haven't been out there much since those packages started arriving, but it's probably seen more use than some of the rooms inside of my house."

Killian cringed a little at her answer. He'd been expecting it, but that didn't really soften the blow much.

"Who would've had access to it?"

"Everyone I know," she sighed.

"Do you mind if I take a few names? Just so we can try and rule out their prints if we find them there."

"Uh, my assistant, Ariel Fisher; my lawyer, Regina Mills; my agent, Graham Humbert; my housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas; my exes, Neal Cassidy and Walsh Osbourne; a load of people from the recording studio that I don't know surnames for. Then there are the dancers that I've worked with who I couldn't even begin to name; all of the executives at Sony Music and their families too." Emma screwed her eyes shut as she tried to recall everyone who had ever attended one of her parties, but that list was incredibly long and changed frequently. "Oh uh… my stylists that you met the other day. It's a _really_ long list, Agent Jones."

Killian nodded his head to show his understanding. At least he had a few names to work with. "What about your family and friends?"

"I don't really have much of either," Emma offered emotionlessly, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Most of my former friends stopped returning my calls when I moved to Los Angeles. The so-called friends I've made since I've been in the city were only interested in me when I had money and fame, and quickly turn against me when they thought that doing so would give _them_ money and fame."

"And your parents?" he prodded gently, because he didn't want to poke at an open wound, but Killian really needed this information for his investigation.

"You don't know?"

At Agent Jones's confused look, Emma pushed herself to her feet with a small hiss of pain and made her way over to a bookcase in the corner of the room. When she returned there was a small wooden box in her hands, with a number of swans carved into the design. She carefully opened it up and pulled out the newspaper clippings she kept hidden away inside of it. That box was the extent of the digging she'd done into her past. A past that she stopped caring about years ago.

Killian took a moment just to skim the short articles that he'd been handed before his eyes moved back to Emma's face. "I'm…"

"Don't! Don't tell me you're sorry," she snapped back. "You didn't leave me on the side of the road to die, so you don't owe me an apology. And I've long since stopped caring about the people who did. They're not a part of my life, and they never will be."

Killian nodded his head to show his understanding as he made a quick note of the date and location where baby Emma had been found. She wouldn't be happy to know that he planned on investigating her past when he got back to the office, but given the lengths the killer was going to in order to 'protect' her, he wasn't willing to rule out the possibility that his suspect could be her father or a long-lost uncle.

"Okay, how about we move on to the next topic?" he suggested instead. When Emma snapped the lid shut on the box and threw it down onto the coffee table, he took that as her agreement. "This one probably isn't much better than the last, but I'm gonna need a list of all of your past lovers."

"Excuse me?"

"It's just to check for alibis and things like that," he quickly assured her. "We've already ruled out some, thanks to their locations being splashed all over the internet at the time of one or more of the murders. But we're also fully aware that you may have been involved with someone recently that you've not been publicly linked to."

Emma sighed as she brought her hands up to run through her hair. She couldn't imagine any of the guys she'd ever been in a relationship with doing this to someone else. But she was so desperate to put an end to what was going on, that she wasn't about to refuse Agent Jones's request.

"It's a relatively short list," she warned him, because contrary to popular belief, Emma spent more of her time focusing on her music than on her love life.

* * *

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	17. Chapter 16

"And then there's Mrs. Martin at the end of the street," Emma finished. She had her eyes screwed shut as she tried desperately to recall the names of every person living in her private, gated community. But it hadn't been easy. She never spoke to most of the people, and those she did she speak with she only ever offered a passing greeting to on her way in and out. They were all such different people, and she knew that she wasn't the only one on the street who preferred keeping her own company to that of her neighbors.

"Okay. I think that's about all we need today, Emma. But with your permission, I'd like to come back tomorrow and speak with your neighbors, just to see if they've noticed anyone suspicious in the area."

"Are you gonna tell them about the killer?" The last thing Emma needed right then was to be driven out of her home by the people living close to her, just because they blamed her for having some dangerous psychopath in the area. But she wouldn't exactly blame them for that. She'd be just as pissed if some pop star had inadvertently put her kids' lives at risk – that is, if she ever had kids of her own.

"No, not right now. It's not in their best interests to know just yet. I don't want to risk causing a panic. We'll tell them there's been an incident in the local area and we're covering all of our bases. You'd be surprised how vague we can get away with being during an active case," he teased. But the remark didn't bring a smile to Emma's face as he'd hoped.

Killian busied himself with stopping the recording and saving their interview to his phone before he finally broached the issue that had been on his mind all evening. "Before I go," he began carefully, "I wanted to talk to you a little about possibly relocating."

Emma's eyes snapped up to meet his, but instead of the fire he'd expected to find behind her gaze, Killian almost felt like he was drowning in the myriad of emotions reflected in them.

"It would only be temporary. Just until we catch this guy. And it would be strictly for your safety, Emma. But given what you said when I first arrived here today, I think it's something you should strongly consider."

Emma took a moment to think the question over before she gave Agent Jones her answer.

"No."

"Emma, please…"

"No!" she cut him off fiercely, as she pushed herself up to her feet with another small hiss of pain. "You're nowhere near close to finding out who's behind this, Agent Jones. So while it sounds temporary to you, it could be _years_ for me. I've already let this bastard control so much of my life since he started sending those packages, and I refuse to let him take my home from me too. So no. I'm not going anywhere." She paused for a moment to prop her hands on her hips as she looked down to the man sitting on her sofa. The fire behind her eyes died a little as she whispered, "Besides, you said that I was safe, right? That at the moment he doesn't seem interested in physically harming me."

Killian sprang to his feet and reached out for her nearest arm, offering it a gentle squeeze of comfort as he assured her, "That's right. I don't think he has any immediate plans to harm you, Emma. But… I don't want to be wrong about this at the cost of your life. I'd feel better if you let us relocate you for your own safety."

"You can relocate me if things start to change. But for now, I'm staying here," she replied firmly, leaving him absolutely no room to argue with her decision. "I have a tour to prepare for anyway, so I'll be on the road soon enough. I doubt the bastard will be flying all over the globe to track me down when that happens. And if he does… then I guess that would at least give you a suspect to work with."

"That's true," Killian agreed, with a rueful chuckle. He hadn't thought about that when she'd first mentioned her tour, but now that she'd given him the idea, his mind was already making mental notes to contact the ticket providers for lists of every single package sold. Maybe her obsessive fan was just obsessive enough to attend multiple events, and they'd finally get lucky that way.

"Well, if you're sure you wanna stay, I'm going to assign a slightly bigger detail to your home," he said, as he watched her gingerly make her way around the coffee table and over to a small desk sat in another corner of the room. "I want people watching the front _and_ back of your house now. And if it's okay with you, I'd like to take a look at your schedule for the rest of this month. If this guy is as obsessive as his actions are suggesting, then we might get lucky and be able to pick him out of a crowd if he shows up everywhere you go. But for that to happen, I'd need your permission to have someone join you on those occasions."

Emma had been busy digging through her desk drawer while he'd been speaking. When she straightened up again and turned to face the FBI Agent, she had a large Manila envelope in her hands.

"That's fine with me. I can always tell Ariel that I hired a new bodyguard or something." She thought that statement over for a moment longer as she carefully made her way back to stand beside him once more, before she added, "Actually, that would work well if _you_ were the person following me around. Obviously, she already knows that you're an FBI agent, but I could tell her that you were looking for a second job to help support your family?" When Agent Jones looked a little dubious about that explanation, she didn't hesitate to add, "You'd be surprised how many of your colleagues moonlight for the rich and famous. We pay better than the government does."

"Of course you do," he scoffed. He should have guessed that. "I uh… I'll see what I can do. I don't really have the time to moonlight at the moment, even if I am only pretending to do so. But I could probably arrange for either my partner or myself to be with you? That way, you'd always be surrounded by a familiar face."

"Sure. Just let me know when you have a plan."

Killian nodded his agreement and for a moment, an almost comfortable silence seemed to settle between the two of them. Emma was the one to break it when she said, "Here," and held out the envelope in her hands.

"What's this?"

"A peace offering for your niece. Moonlighting FBI agents get great perks," she teased, as she watched him peer into the envelope. It was too dark to see exactly what was inside of it, but Killian was pretty sure that he could make out the edges of a plastic CD case.

"Thanks. She'll love it. And uh… you didn't need to do that."

"It's fine. It's the least I could do," she assured him, waving away his concerns. "Thanks for coming, Agent Jones. Thanks for… _everything._ "

"You're very welcome, Miss Swan. I'll see myself out but make sure you lock up after me, okay?"

Emma nodded her head as Killian turned on his heels to head for the front door, with her following as close behind as she could, given the pain in her legs.

"Call me if you need anything," he instructed, his hand resting on the doorknob. "And promise me that there will be no more whiskey tonight. You need water to stay hydrated and to help those burns heal."

"I promise. Thanks again, Agent Jones. Enjoy what's left of your evening."

Killian didn't offer the sentiment back. He knew that Emma wouldn't be enjoying hers, given everything that had happened that day. Instead, he nodded his head one final time before slipping outside and closing the door firmly behind himself. And then he waited. When the sound of the lock clicking into place met his ears, he finally turned away from the house to head back to where he'd parked his car.

* * *

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	18. Chapter 17

"You look awful."

"Thanks, Dave. It's always lovely to see you too," Killian deadpanned, as his friend sat a mug of coffee down in front of him. He reached out for it and took a long sip, savoring the bitter taste that exploded over his tongue before he raised his eyes to ask, "How did it go yesterday, with the team sorting the fanmail?"

"They're not even _halfway_ through it yet," David sighed. "There are thousands of pieces there, and what they're doing isn't a quick and simple search. But what they have sorted through so far hasn't thrown up any connections to our guy. What about you? Did you have any luck with Emma Swan yesterday?"

"Plenty. Which is why I've been here for three hours already," he groaned, running both of his hands through his hair. Killian picked up the file that had been sat on one side of his desk and tossed it over the table for his friend to flick through.

"Emma helped us to identify another of our victims, and she's given us a connection between them all too."

"Critics?"

"Isn't everyone these days?" Killian challenged. "From what we've been able to dig up so far, the girls we have identified are actually legitimate journalists." It had come as something of a surprise to him. He hadn't realized that websites actually paid people to attack celebrities the way these women had, and for such trivial things too. One of their articles about Emma that he'd read was simply a list of all the worst outfits she'd ever worn – and most of the pictures they'd used to illustrate said outfits were _years_ old. "They've all written some pretty high-traffic hit pieces on Emma, which is what we _think_ is the killer's motive behind the attacks. I've got some of the guys from tech running down other pieces that female journalists have written about her. Maybe we'll be able to connect a name to a missing person's report and ID our last victim."

David nodded his head in understanding but didn't lift it from the file he was still flicking through. "The note changed this time," he murmured.

"Yeah. Our killer seems to be spiraling. But hopefully the new information we have will let us catch him before his mental stability can decline any further."

"What do you need me to do?" David asked, finally snapping the file closed.

"I need a list of everyone who's purchased tickets for Emma's tour dates. Cross-check the names on each one. See if any of them appear more than a couple of times. If this guy is as obsessed as his actions suggest, then we might get a hit that way," Killian explained. "I also wanna send someone out to Emma's neighborhood to ask the people in her community if they've seen anything suspicious recently. Do you think you could coordinate that for me?"

"Of course," David assured him. His friend looked like he needed a good night of sleep, but he assumed that Killian had leads of his own to chase down, given that he was delegating to others. "What about you? What are your plans for the day?"

"I have to go and tell a woman that her daughter's never coming home," he sighed, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up and stretch out his aching muscles. "After that, I'm gonna call in and see Liam and Ellie. I canceled on them again last night, so I have some groveling to do."

"Do you want me to come with you to tell the mother?" David asked, as he watched his friend gather a few files from his desk before reaching into a drawer for his badge and gun.

"Nah. Someone needs to chase down these leads, and I'd rather it be someone I trust. You don't mind, do ya?"

"Not at all," David replied. "I'll call you if I find anything promising."

"Thanks, mate."

* * *

The worst part of Killian's job was always delivering bad news. He could still remember the first time he'd gone with a supervisor to do just that. The guy had pulled him aside to warn Killian not to let his emotions show until they were away from the victim's family. It had been much easier said than done. He could still see the exact moment the woman's heart had broken when she'd found out that her husband wouldn't ever be coming home, and that look had haunted his dreams for months after that day.

Over the years he'd gotten better at dealing those blows. He'd learned to switch off the side of his brain that wanted nothing more than to hold those poor people as they cried for their loss while making promises that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to keep. He'd learned to push those experiences down, to bury them under months of happy memories with his brother and his niece, so that he could sleep relatively peacefully every night. But it hadn't been easy.

As the navigation system in his car told him that he'd arrived at his final destination, Killian took a moment to switch off that compassionate side of his brain before he finally climbed out. The neighborhood he was in looked like a nice one, the kind where people living in it would never have expected the sort of news he was about to deliver. Which didn't make the task ahead of him any easier to face.

After rapping his knuckles sharply on the white wooden door, he reached into his back pocket for his badge and waited for someone to answer it.

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Bell? My name's Special Agent Jones and I work for the FBI. Would you mind if I came in?" he asked, holding out his credentials for the older woman to check over.

When she was satisfied that he was who he claimed to be, Mrs. Bell pulled the door open wider and ushered him through to the living room before closing it softly behind him.

"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, Special Agent Jones?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you," he assured her, as he took a careful seat on the edge of her sofa. The woman seemed to know that something bad was coming, as she hesitated before taking her own. But she didn't voice her concerns.

Killian let his gaze wander around the space for just a moment, taking in the pictures that decorated the walls and the mantlepiece. Even from a distance, he could tell he was in the right house, and for just a second, he hated himself for what he was about to do.

"I apologize for disturbing you this morning, Mrs. Bell, but I'm afraid I have some bad news," he began carefully.

The woman's eyes were already watering but she nodded her head for him to continue anyway.

"It's about your daughter, Isobel."

"Oh God, no!"

"I'm so very sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm afraid we found Isobel's body a few weeks ago."

The chilling cry of agony that left the older woman's throat was one that Killian knew he would never be able to forget.

* * *

 **** **Sorry for being MIA for a while. I had to take a step back to work on improving my health and then catch up at work.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	19. Chapter 18

"Wow. And I thought I looked rough this morning," Liam remarked, as he pulled the front door open wider to let his brother slip through.

"You know, I might shoot the next person who decides to tell me just how shit I look today," Killian grumbled, before adding, "Sorry about dinner last night."

"It's not me you should be apologizing to," his brother chuckled, as he waved a hand in the direction of the closed-door just down the hall.

"Well, I brought a peace offering with me, so hopefully she'll forgive me." Killian held up the manila envelope that Emma Swan had given to him the day before, and then took a seat on the tired and slightly saggy couch in front of the television.

"Ellie, your uncle's here," Liam called out loudly, as he made his way past her bedroom door and over to the small kitchen in the apartment. After digging around inside of the fridge for something cold to drink, Liam made his way back, pausing to bang his fist on Ellie's door for good measure.

"I hope you're ready to do some groveling," he told his brother, cracking open a cold beer for himself before he passed Killian a can of Cola.

"I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't important. We're working a major case right now, and I just… God, it's bad, Liam. Really bad."

Liam looked up from his drink to fix his brother with a hard stare. Killian rarely spoke about the type of work he did. And even when he wanted to, he was often forbidden to discuss an active case. But the look on his brother's face at that moment said far more than his words ever could. He'd missed it when he'd first opened the door, but something in Killian's eyes looked truly haunted.

"I'm sorry, Man. I hope you catch the bastard responsible soon."

"Thanks. So do I," Killian sighed, before slumping back in his seat.

The two men sat in awkward silence for a moment. Killian was trying hard not to dwell upon what had happened that morning, while Liam tried not to imagine the horrors that his brother must have seen on this particular case to cause that look in his eyes. Thankfully, the mood was shattered when the sound of a door creaking open reached their ears, before Ellie finally stepped out of her room with her phone glued to her hand.

"I have homework," she declared, not bothering to look away from the screen as her thumbs tapped out a message to her friends.

"I know," Killian reasoned, pushing himself up to his feet. "I just wanted to apologize for missing dinner last night."

"'s okay. It's not like it's the first time," she threw back at him, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"That doesn't make it any better," he told her, because he was well aware of how disappointing he could be as both an uncle and a brother. It was one of the reasons he'd given up on dating. If Ellie got this pissed at him for missing the odd family dinner night, he couldn't imagine how a girlfriend would feel about him constantly canceling their dates. "I know you've heard this before too, but I really am working a very big and important case right now, El."

"I know. I saw you on the news."

Ellie certainly wasn't making things easy for him, but Killian hadn't really expected any less. There was far too much of the Jones DNA in her system for her to let things go easily.

"Well then, I assume that you know I'm trying to find the person responsible for taking someone else's life, and not just blowing you off to go out and party," he reminded her harshly.

That finally seemed to make a dent in her armor, as Ellie locked her phone and slid it into the pocket of her jeans before she raised her head to meet her uncle's eyes. "Sorry," she offered reluctantly.

Killian took a couple of steps forward before he folded her into his arms, hugging his niece to his chest. His brain helpfully chose that moment to remind him that their youngest victim hadn't been much older than Ellie was, and he squeezed her small frame a little tighter to fight off _those_ mental images that were trying to creep in.

"I uh… I have something for you," he offered, as she stepped out of his embrace and headed for a seat in the living room, beside her father. "I've uh… I've um… well…" Killian trailed off, as he tried to find the words to explain what he was about to give Ellie. He wasn't really sure how to describe his connection to Emma Swan at that moment, without giving away her involvement in his case. And the last thing he wanted to do was leave Ellie believing that he'd blown off their dinner in favor of spending time with her idol.

"What is it?" his niece asked.

Instead of replying, Killian simply handed over the envelope as his mind raced for a reasonable explanation about how he'd come to know the singer.

Ellie didn't bother waiting for that explanation. She had already turned the envelope upside down and watched as the contents of it dropped out into her lap. There was a moment of complete silence in the apartment while she carefully examined each of the items inside. Her father craned his head across the space between them to see what Killian had brought for her before pulling back suddenly as an ear-piercing scream rang around the space.

"Oh my god! How did you get this? It's not been released yet," Ellie yelled, as she waved the CD case in front of her uncle's face.

"I uh… I've been thinking about taking on some extra security work for her when this investigation is over," Killian replied lamely. It was the best he could think of at that moment, and it wasn't a complete lie. "I might have let it slip that you were her biggest fan."

Ellie flicked the case open to study the artwork inside of it and then screamed again when she saw the dedication and signature on the inside cover. "Oh my god! This is the best day of my life," she cried, as actual tears streamed down her face.

Liam stood up to examine the rest of the goodies Emma Swan had sent for his daughter. There was a t-shirt from her last tour, some buttons, and a few art prints she had quickly signed. But it was the picture of herself that had his brow rising in question. Emma Swan had signed that one too, and the dedication on it read, _take it easy on your uncle._

He was so distracted by thoughts of just how well Emma Swan may know his brother, that it took him a little longer to see the simple white envelope that rested between the sofa cushions. When he did, Liam pulled it out and slid his finger under the flap to open it up before removing the letter inside.

"Uh, El. Did you see this?" he asked, as turned the sheet of paper around to face his daughter.

Ellie looked like she didn't want to let go of the CD case long enough to read it, but when she recognized Emma Swan's signature at the bottom of the page, she quickly snatched it out of her father's hands.

"Hey!" he protested, but Ellie wasn't paying any attention to him at that moment.

"What does it say?" Killian asked, genuinely curious about what Emma would have written for his niece, in the short space of time she'd had.

"Ellie, please consider this an IOU for stealing your uncle away from you the other evening. He's been helping me with some issues that I'm afraid I can't disclose publicly right now. But to make up for what's happened, I'd like to offer you, your father, and your uncle VIP passes to the date of your choice for my next stadium tour. If you'd rather attend an event out of state, I'll cover the costs of your travel and hotel rooms. Just let your uncle know what you'd prefer and I'll take care of the rest. I hope you're well and thanks for all of your support. Emma Swan."

"Of course she sent that," Killian sighed, as he took the sheet of paper from Ellie's fingers to read through the letter himself.

Ellie looked like she was close to having some kind of breakdown while she surveyed her new swag once more. Then she turned to throw herself at her uncle. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she chanted, as she squeezed him tight. All of her concerns over their missed family dinner now seemed completely forgotten.

"You're uh… you're welcome," Killian replied slowly, lifting his eyes to meet his brother's confused gaze over her head. He had no idea how he was going to explain all of this to Liam when they were alone again.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	20. Chapter 19

Things had been quiet for almost two weeks now, and it was starting to worry Killian. While he was happy that no more young women had lost their lives during that short timeframe, he couldn't help but think that the silence from their killer meant he was busy plotting something worse for the near future. And Killian's imagination had been all too helpful in supplying images of just how much worse the situation could get.

He hadn't heard much from Emma Swan since she'd received her last package, so Killian had made a point of reaching out to her every few days, just to see how she was doing. Her messages seemed pretty upbeat, but he didn't know the young woman well enough to know if she was bullshitting her way through them, or if she was genuinely trying to move on with her life. Thankfully, Killian would have his answer to that question soon enough.

With Emma's stadium tour fast approaching, she had decided to return to rehearsals for the event with a couple of undercover agents following her everywhere she went. Killian had assigned two rookies to her case, in the hopes that their familiar and constant presence would help to reassure her of her safety. Phillip and Thomas had been more than happy to take the assignment when they'd been told who they'd be watching over. And they'd both been producing detailed reports of how the young popstar spent her time and who she spent it with.

Killian had run the names of anyone and everyone listed in those reports, but so far, every single one had come back clean. He'd also ran the names of Emma's neighbors and the fans that had purchased tickets to multiple concerts for her tour. But aside from some parking fines, speeding convictions, and a couple of possession of marijuana charges, there was nothing to suggest that any of those people posed a danger to her life.

The investigation was still stuck in the same place it had been before Emma had come forward with her connection to the murders, and it was driving him crazy. Killian had been involved in far more murder investigations than he'd ever care to admit, and none of them had ever proven to be as frustrating as this one was. It felt like he had a large jigsaw puzzle laid out in front of him, but with pieces of the edges missing, he was struggling to know where to start putting it together.

"You know, they say the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different outcomes," David remarked, as he stepped into his friend's office. "How many times have you watched that footage now?"

"Too many," Killian sighed, switching off the monitor on his computer. He'd been analyzing the traffic camera footage that had been pulled from the areas surrounding Emma's home and all of their crime scenes, hoping that something would jump out at him. The lab techs had already been through everything with their various computer programs and had found nothing they thought would help the case. But with no new leads to run down, Killian had been hoping that maybe human eyes would pick up on something the computer program had missed.

He'd been watching the footage over and over all day, but none of the license plates that showed up in one video ever appeared in any of the others. And while it was entirely possible that their suspect could have switched plates between each kill, there were only a handful of cars of the same model and color that showed up in more than one of the videos. He'd run the plates of those that had, but Killian hadn't been surprised when none of them threw up anything of concern.

"How's your day going?" he finally asked his friend, as he lifted his head to offer David his full attention.

"I've been pushing papers all day as we don't seem to have any leads to go on," David sighed. "I _hate_ paperwork. They never mention the abundance of that and how carefully it has to be completed when you're a kid."

Killian chuckled at the other man's complaint as he shifted in his chair to make himself more comfortable. He'd been sitting for so long he was starting to get fidgety, and the unease building inside of him wasn't helping matters either.

"And how's Mary-Margaret doing?"

"She's good. Work's keeping her busy at the moment, while they get the kids ready to take their exams. But you know her, she loves to feel like she's helping people. So she always thrives during this time of the year."

Killian chuckled again at his friend's words. He knew all too well just how 'helpful' David's wife could be. He'd lost count of the number of times she'd 'accidentally' invited a pretty single friend of hers to dinner on the same night that he'd been invited over. The woman never seemed to be short on beautiful and unattached friends.

"You should stop by for dinner soon," David added. "It's been a while since Mary-Margaret's seen you. And you know how she worries."

"As long as there aren't any unexpected guests, I will never turn down a home-cooked meal that hasn't been prepared in a microwave."

David flushed a little at Killian's words as he recalled the last time his wife had played matchmaker. She'd invited two of her single friends over for dinner with them, thinking that one of them would be bound to catch Killian's eye. But the two women had spent most of the night glaring at each other every time Killian had attempted to make polite conversation with one of them, and the atmosphere around the table had been awful as a result of it.

"I think she learned her lesson after last time," David assured him. "I'll have a chat with her tonight and see when she can spare us some time, then we can sort something out."

"That sounds brilliant," Killian agreed, as he relaxed back into his seat once more. His eyes flicked up to the clock on his office wall and David turned to follow his gaze.

"What time are you leaving here?"

"In about twenty minutes," he replied, as he watched the second hand make a full rotation of the clock's face. "Emma will be leaving her place on the hour, and I want to travel a little behind her car when she does. Just to see if anyone else is following her."

"That makes sense." David knew that Emma's regular team would be nowhere near as skilled at picking up on a tail as Killian would be. However, the obsessive way in which his friend had been checking the clock all day made much less sense to him.

* * *

Killian didn't even need to flash his badge at the guy working the gate to Emma's private community that afternoon. It was the same guy who had been working the gate the last time he'd been called to the house, and the attendant waved him through with a small smile of acknowledgment.

When he rolled his car to a stop in front of Emma's home, he wasn't surprised to see a couple of unknown vehicles parked in the driveway. Killian knew that Emma had a live performance that evening, and she would likely have a team of people visiting to dress and style her. But he still pulled out his notepad to jot down the license plates of each of the cars, just to be safe.

The same redhead that had been at Emma's home the last time he'd shown up while she was preparing for a public appearance answered the door. The woman gave him a cold and calculating look as she took in his familiar form while she waited for him to speak.

"Is Miss Swan available?" Killian asked as politely as he could.

"She's busy getting changed."

"That's fine. I can wait," he assured her, taking a step forward to put himself inside of Emma's home. It also had the advantage of preventing the other woman from closing the door on him.

"How do you know Emma again?" she snapped, as she released her grip on it and turned to head back to the living room. Killian closed the door softly behind himself before he followed after her.

"I'm just helping her with some extra security." It was the lie they had both settled on when he'd dispatched the two rookies to her home. It would allow their agents to be as close to Emma as they could get, without people linking her to an active FBI investigation. But he knew it would still raise a few eyebrows in the industry. Most agents that offered private security usually ended up leaving the bureau to do so, given that the pay was much better than what the federal government offered them.

The redhead looked like she didn't truly believe Killian's lie, but when she turned into the living room all thoughts of it seemed to rush from her mind. Instead, she began barking orders at the people still inside the space, commanding them to move faster and reminding them of how little time they had left before they needed to leave the property.

Killian made himself as small as possible as he leaned into one of the walls furthest away from all of the commotion, and stood back to watch the people around him. These were individuals that Emma interacted with regularly and who clearly knew her home well, which would make them all a part of his potential suspect pool. But the longer he watched them work, the more Killian began to believe that the killer wasn't in the room with him. Everyone there was too focused on doing their jobs to care about anything else that was happening that day.

His focus was finally pulled away from two of the men he'd been watching over by the fireplace when the sound of a throat clearing from somewhere just behind him reached his ears. Killian turned slowly to see who could possibly want his attention that afternoon and froze in shock when he got a good look at the person standing behind him.

"Fuck me," he mumbled quietly, as his eyes widened with his shock.

The melodic laughter that followed his words suggested that Killian probably hadn't been as quiet as he thought he'd been.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	21. Chapter 20

"Is something the matter, Agent Jones?"

"No. God no. Sorry. I just uh… I just remembered something important that I have to do tonight… when I leave here," Killian lied, as he kept his eyes focused on a spot on the wall above Emma Swan's left shoulder.

"Uhuh."

He watched from the corner of his eye as Emma threw him a look that clearly said she didn't believe him, before she made her way over to where a few people were still buzzing around. They seemed to be checking over her look for the night, taming her hair with a little more spray and using some kind of handheld device to steam out any creases in her skirt.

Killian knew that she had a performance that evening, along with a live televised interview to promote both her new album and her tour, so he'd been expecting her to be dressed for the occasion. He just hadn't quite expected her to be wearing what she was. The two-piece ensemble was made of pale yellow linen and worked well with her complexion. There weren't many people who could wear yellow and pull it off, but Emma appeared to be one of those lucky few.

The skirt she was wearing fell to the middle of her calf and was high-waisted, so it sat just above where he knew her bellybutton would be. There was a series of buttons up the front that seemed to be the only fastenings on the piece, as Killian hadn't noticed a zipper when she'd turned away from him. (Not that he'd been looking for one.) But it was her top that he was struggling with the most. It was, quite simply put, a yellow linen bra. There was no other way he could have described it. The small piece tied in between her breasts and was held in place by two very thin straps, showing off more skin than Killian had ever seen on Emma Swan before.

And it was all that bare skin that had sent his mind reeling. Killian had always known that he'd been physically attracted to Emma. She was a beautiful woman, he'd have to be blind not to see that. But it wasn't until that evening when he'd realized just how arousing he found her to be. There was something about the sway of her hips as she moved and the confidence with which she carried herself, that called to him in a way he'd never really felt before. He told himself that it must be the performer in her that he was drawn to, because Killian really didn't want to examine that arousal any further than he already had.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" she asked, startling him a little with how close she was once again.

"Huh?"

"The plan, Agent Jones. Are you traveling with me? How long are you planning to stay for? Will you be accompanying me back?"

Killian's eyes briefly darted over her form to take in the hands she had resting on her hips before he snapped them back up to that safe spot just above her left shoulder. His mind attempted to focus on the questions she'd asked and not the freckles he could see that lightly dusted her upper chest. He hadn't realized that the rest of her team had left the house until the silence of the room fully began to settle over him, and Killian mentally shook himself for being so distracted by a pretty girl wearing a bra. Any kind of lapse in focus was unacceptable for an FBI agent, let alone one of his age and experience level. It was the kind of mistake that could get someone hurt - and Killian didn't make those kinds of mistakes.

"I'm going to follow just behind you on your way to the studio," he explained carefully. "If anyone else is tailing you, I should be able to spot them. And even if they're not, it's still a good way for me to ensure your safety as you travel. While you're inside the building, I will be with you. I don't doubt that the studio has their own security team but I'd rather be present. That way, I can get a feel for the people around you and anyone in the audience. When you're finished, I'll follow you home, escort you inside, and then leave you be."

Emma's cocky confidence from earlier that evening faltered a little now that they were alone, and she hesitated for a moment before she asked, "Do you think someone close to me is doing this?"

"I honestly don't know." Killian knew it wasn't a comforting sentiment but he didn't want to lie to Emma either. "The actions of our suspect suggests he's familiar with your home and your routine. But that could just be because you're a public figure and he's been watching you for a while. It could be that it's because he works around you. But for what it's worth, we've run the names of anyone and everyone that you've come into contact with recently, and there's nothing there to suggest that they're involved. So… try not to be too worried about that."

"I think that ship has sailed, Agent Jones." She turned away from him for a moment and carefully bent down to pick up her clutch from the table. After checking over its contents for a few seconds, Emma finally snapped it shut before she said, "Well, I'm ready if you are?"

"Don't you uh… do you maybe wanna grab a jacket or something?" Killian asked, before he could fully think it through. Emma turned back to face him and cocked a brow in question. "I just mean it uh… it could get chilly tonight. And you're not exactly…" When her brow climbed impossibly higher he cut himself off and attempted to rephrase his sentiment. "You might get cold."

"It's Los Angeles. It's seventy-five degrees outside. I'll be fine. But thanks for your concern, Grandpa."

"Hey! I'm not _that_ old," he threw back, eliciting a small giggle from his charge for the evening, as she headed for the front door.

* * *

The drive to the studio was pretty uneventful. Killian kept his eyes peeled but nobody seemed to be tailing Emma's car, and nobody familiar appeared when they pulled into the parking lot to allow Emma to exit her vehicle away from the crowds gathered by the entrance. Killian took a moment to scan the group of people that had been patiently waiting to meet their idol, as Emma's assistant ushered her in their direction to sign some autographs. He used the opportunity it presented him with to snap a few pictures of the crowd to have their team analyze more closely, but Killian didn't think anything would come of them. Nobody there looked remotely familiar to him.

He could tell how uncomfortable Emma was around her fans, however, and Killian's heart broke a little for the woman he was watching over. Ellie had always gushed about how fan-friendly Emma Swan was, and how much she had wanted to meet her idol as a result of that. But everything that was happening to her had clearly taken its toll, as he could see unease and distrust etched into every tense line of her body while she signed pictures and album artwork for her fans. So after giving her a few moments, Killian stepped in to usher Emma away from the crowd and back towards the building. That way, if anyone was left unhappy by the encounter, hopefully they'd blame him for it and not their idol.

"Thanks," she whispered, once they were safely inside and Ariel was a good few strides ahead of them.

"No worries. If uh… If you need people to do that for you more often, then just let me know. I'm sure we can work something out."

"A secret hand signal?" Emma teased.

"Hey, joke all you want but hand signals and code words are still our go-to method of the twenty-first century. They work!"

Ariel threw a disapproving look back at the two of them as she continued making her way through the halls. When she came to a stop in front of a wooden door that was already labeled with Emma's name, she turned back to Killian to tell him, "You can wait out here."

"I will - after I've checked inside of the room." He motioned for the redhead to step aside and then brushed past her as he did a quick sweep inside the space. There was a dressing table pushed against one wall with a large illuminated mirror above it, and a gift basket sat in front of that. Along another wall was a stiff-looking black, leather couch and a small coffee table sat opposite that. No windows looked into the room and there was no other way in or out of the small space, which meant that Emma would be safe inside of it, should anything go wrong.

Killian gave Ariel a sharp nod as he stepped back out of the room. She pushed past him to settle herself on the sofa while Emma shot him a sympathetic look. "It's not you that she's angry at, it's me," she whispered, stepping around him to follow after her assistant.

Killian closed the door softly behind the two women and then took up a position outside of it. It wasn't how he'd wanted to spend his night, but it certainly wasn't the worst way to do so.

* * *

The host for the show came to meet with Emma roughly thirty minutes before they were due on air and didn't give Killian a second glance. The guy didn't stay long, citing his need to get to the makeup chair before they went live, but from what Killian could hear through the door, he spent more time talking about himself than he actually did speaking with Emma.

Ariel left the room a few minutes later, chasing down an assistant for a specific type of candy that apparently her client _needed_ to have in her dressing room, and Killian chuckled as he watched her go.

"I figured that would keep her busy for a while," Emma said, as she poked her head through the open doorway.

"I'd say she only has your best interests in mind, but I really don't know much about her."

"She's one of the best in the business," Emma explained, pushing the door open wider and nodding her head for him to follow her inside. It was only when the door clicked shut behind him that she spoke again. "We used to get along fairly well. But since all of this began… I've changed. It changes you, you know? And I guess she thinks that I'm going through a rebellious phase or something similar, so she's tightening the reins."

"Why haven't you told her?" Killian asked, as he took a seat on the couch. It was just as stiff and uncomfortable as he'd expected it to be.

"Because she'd have all of these plans to handle it, and if they were anything like Regina's plans to deal with it, I knew we'd just end up fighting. Besides, I don't wanna drag more people into this mess than absolutely necessary."

"I get that."

Killian understood the urge to protect the people around him. It was one of the reasons why he always remained so tight-lipped about his job. He knew that Liam would never leak anything Killian told him in confidence, but he also knew that his brother would struggle to sleep at night if he knew what Killian had seen on the job. Liam would never let his daughter out of his sight if he knew half the stuff that Killian did about the city they lived in. Because God knows there were some days where all Killian wanted to do was curl up in a ball and lock himself away from the horror of it all.

"I'm uh… I'm looking forward to your performance tonight," he said after a moment, shattering the tension that had filled the room as both he and Emma had lost themselves in their own dark minds.

"I didn't think you were a fan."

"I'm not… I mean, I wasn't," he clarified. "I uh… I don't know if you know this… but, your music's kind of everywhere. It's hard _not_ to be a fan."

Emma chuckled at his brutal honesty before pulling a tube of lipstick from her purse. She took a moment just to reapply the color, making sure she was perfectly happy with it, before she tucked the tube away and straightened up once more.

"And here was me thinking that you just wanted an excuse to stare at me in this outfit without being noticed," she giggled.

Killian opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the sharp rap on Emma's dressing room door.

"Aren't you gonna get that?" she asked, when neither of them made a move to answer it.

* * *

 **Emma's look here is based on Jen's look for the Sierra Burgess is a Loser premiere in August 2018.**

 **Thanks for sticking with me as I battle through my health issues. It'll be a little longer before I get back to something resembling a normal posting schedule - but I hope to get there as soon as I can. Please know that even though I'm behind on my review replies right now, I read and treasure every single one.**


	22. Chapter 21

"So, Emma, you have a new and hugely anticipated album dropping on Friday, the title track of which you'll be performing for us at the end of the show. But I'm sure everyone watching at home right now would love to know a little more about what we can expect from the rest of the songs on it."

Emma shifted in her seat to make herself more comfortable as she turned the question over in her mind. "I'd like to think that you can see my personal growth through the music I release. The songs for this album were written during a huge time of transition for me. I finally feel like I've started to find my place in this world and I'm growing into what I hope others see as a mature adult. I really feel like that's been reflected in the new music I've written for _Dancing in the Dark_. To me, these songs are deeper and less superficial than the stuff I wrote when I was a teenager because I have a very different outlook on life now."

Mark, the show's host, nodded his head like he could even begin to understand the journey she had been through, and how it had affected the music she'd written. Emma had to bite down on her tongue and remind herself to keep smiling, because reaching out to slap the smug smile off his face wouldn't go down well at all.

It was always hard for her to explain just how much her music meant to her. Emma enjoyed performing and putting her work out into the world, but every single piece meant something different to her. Her catalog of work was like a musical biography of her life, and it was something she felt incredibly protective of. Which was how she knew the only other people in the world who could even begin to understand her position, were her fellow songwriters.

"And you have a world tour starting next month, right here in Los Angeles. Can we expect to see some of our old favorites performed there, or will you be focusing more on this newer, more mature Emma Swan?"

"The heaviest focus will, of course, be on the newest material," she explained. "I want you guys to love the tracks as much as I do, and I want you to form a connection to them, just like I have. But we're planning to make sure we mix in some of those older classics with the newer pieces too. While I might have matured since I wrote those songs, that doesn't mean they don't still hold a special place in my heart."

The audience gave a small cheer at her words and Emma smiled sweetly as she turned a little in her chair to face them better. They were, after all, the reason she'd agreed to the interview that evening. She didn't much like Mark or his show. Emma could still remember some of the less-than-flattering things he'd said about her when she'd first broken through the industry, even if he couldn't. But she knew that sucking up to journalists was a part of her job, just as she knew that she owed it to her fans to promote her work as best she could. Those that were unable to attend her tours relied on television and radio interviews for their fix, so she didn't want to deprive them of their access to her content. And it was the thought of those fans that kept her smile genuine that evening, as she sat across from the two-faced television presenter on the other side of the large oak desk.

"You sound like you've had a busy year preparing for all of this," Mark chuckled, and Emma sighed internally. She'd given enough interviews throughout her career to know exactly where he was going with this line of questioning. "I don't suppose that's left you much room for a personal life?"

"I uh… I have been busy," she agreed, as she forced herself to lighten the mood with a chuckle. "But no matter how busy I get, I always try to make time for the people who mean the most to me."

"Does that mean there's someone special in your life right now?" Mark prodded, leaning forward a little in his seat, which gave away just how eager he was for some kind of exclusive gossip.

"There are a lot of special people in my life," Emma replied honestly. "But if you're asking if I'm dating anyone right now, the simple answer to that is no."

"Well, I'm sure the right person is out there waiting for you, Emma," he replied awkwardly, clearly thrown by the bluntness of her response. Mark then turned his attention away from her to face the camera opposite his desk as he declared, "We're gonna take a short break now, but when we come back we'll be joined by actor Ethan Hawke, who's here to tell us all about his new movie. And Emma Swan will, of course, be performing her latest single, _Dancing in the Dark_."

As soon as word was given that the live feed had been cut, Emma made her way off the small stage to head back to her dressing room, pulling the microphone from her clothing as she did. She wasn't surprised to find Ariel and Agent Jones waiting for her. Ariel had been standing close to the floor manager, likely issuing orders about camera angles that she deemed to be the most flattering for her client, whereas Agent Jones had been lingering as far away from the action as he could get, while still keeping her in his line of sight.

"You could have delivered that last line a little more gently," Ariel chided, as the three of them turned to head back down the corridors.

"I also could have told him to mind his own damned business. I thought I was polite enough."

Ariel let out a hefty sigh and Emma tried to remind herself that her assistant was simply doing her job. (And she hadn't exactly made that easy for the other woman just recently.)

"Next time, I promise I'll try to be more tactful," she assured her friend, as she reached for the handle on her dressing room door.

"Allow me," Agent Jones interrupted. He darted in front of her to make his way into the small space once again, and Emma watched as he gave it a careful once over before he stepped back out and nodded that it was fine for them to enter.

"Thank you," Ariel bit out, pushing her way past him to head for the couch once more.

"Thanks," Emma offered, much more softly.

"For what it's worth, I thought what you said was fine," he whispered quickly. Emma's assistant already seemed to dislike him enough, so the last thing Killian wanted to do was give her another reason to hate him, by holding up her client. "I particularly liked how you implied that romantic partners aren't the only people to hold special places in a person's life."

"Thank you, Agent Jones."

He nodded his head in acknowledgment of her statement before reaching past her to pull the door closed, effectively shutting himself out of the room.

Emma had barely taken two steps before Ariel asked, "Are we going to need to have a conversation about appropriate men for you to date?"

"Excuse me?"

The redhead flicked a pointed look over to the closed door before she settled her gaze back on Emma's face once more.

"Agent Jones and I are not dating. And even if we were, it wouldn't be any of your business," Emma snapped out. "I hired you to help manage my professional schedule, not to dictate who I should or shouldn't spend my time with. If you wanna keep your job, you'll remember that in the future."

Emma dropped down heavily into the seat at the dressing table and allowed her eyes to flutter shut for a moment. She knew she'd probably come to regret that threat in the morning, when she'd had some time and space to think it through. But right then, she couldn't seem to bring herself to regret it enough to apologize to her friend.

* * *

Killian enjoyed watching Emma perform that evening. It had been years since he'd seen anyone perform live music (unless you could count his niece's habit of singing when she was listening to her iPhone) and Emma was a truly talented performer. No matter how she felt away from the stage, the moment the music began it was all she could focus on. And Killian was oddly pleased to note that every single person in the studio seemed to enjoy her set just as much as he did, as both the audience and the production crew gave her their full attention.

The moment she stepped off the stage, however, Emma's entire demeanor changed. He wasn't entirely sure what had been said between her and her assistant before the performance, but Killian could sense the tension between the two women as they headed back to the dressing room one final time.

When they arrived at the now-familiar door, Emma turned back to face the two people who had been following her, and Killian expected her to address the redhead at his side. But as usual, Emma Swan surprised him once again by turning her attention towards him.

"Do you think you could give me a ride home?" she asked.

The woman beside him (God, he really needed to ask her name!) opened her mouth to object and Emma stormed ahead before she could say anything.

"You can leave now, Ariel."

"Emma, please! Can't we just discuss this in private for a moment?"

"I have nothing left to say on the matter," she snapped back. "I'll contact you tomorrow to discuss next week's plans."

Ariel turned to look at the federal agent standing beside her for a moment, her eyes pleading with him to step in and help her out.

Killian might have only had limited experience in dealing with members of the opposite sex, but even _he_ knew not to get involved in whatever was happening between the two warring women.

"Fine," the redhead eventually huffed out. "But if all of this blows up in your face Emma, you can deal with the consequences of it alone." She stormed down the hallway and towards the back entrance without another word, and Killian turned a questioning look upon the woman standing opposite him.

"Don't ask," Emma sighed, reaching for the door handle before she remembered protocol and stepped aside to gesture for Agent Jones to go in ahead of her.

The room was just as empty as it had been before, but given what they knew of their suspect so far, Killian wasn't prepared to take any chances.

He watched as Emma buzzed around the space quickly, picking up her purse and checking to make sure everything was still safely tucked inside before she turned back to face him once again.

"Would you um… would you mind grabbing that for me?" she asked, nodding her head at the gift basket on the floor by the dressing table. "If I don't take it with me, they'll think I'm being rude."

"Of course."

Killian wasn't at all surprised to find the best of the best inside of it. The fruit was all perfectly shaped, boldly colored, and wonderfully shiny. The champagne was a brand he'd only ever heard of, but had never really seen in the grocery store before. And the chocolates were a brand that Mary-Margaret had once gushed about when she'd been given them as a gift, but refused to buy for herself because of how expensive they were.

"You uh… you can have all of that if you want it," Emma told him, when they finally left the room to head for the rear exit. "It's all stuff I have at home anyway. And I'm guessing this wasn't exactly your idea of fun tonight."

"My job is rarely fun these days, Emma," he sighed. "But this gift was meant for you. I couldn't accept it. Besides, you've already given me enough."

"Huh?"

"The stuff you gifted to Ellie," he elaborated. "She was over the moon with it all. And Liam tells me that he doesn't think he's seen her this happy in years. You really didn't need to go to all of that trouble for her."

"It's fine," Emma assured him, waving away his praise like she was embarrassed to be on the receiving end of it. She said nothing more as one of the studio's assistants pulled open the door for them to leave through, and wished them both a good evening. But when the heavy metal swung shut behind them, she spoke up again. "I'm aware that I wouldn't be where I am today without fans like your niece supporting me. So I like giving back to them whenever I can. She won't be the only person getting free tickets to this tour. We try to give a few away for each date."

"Well, after what you did for Ellie, I think you might have converted my brother into a fan too," Killian chuckled. "My car's over here," he added, inclining his head in the direction of one of the only vehicles left in the lot.

"Does that mean the whole Jones family are now Team Emma?"

"Ha! I suppose it does."

When they came to a stop just in front of his Chevelle, Emma's eyes widened a little with her surprise. She'd been expecting him to drive something boring and practical, like a truck or an SUV. She hadn't been expecting the classic sports car that he was busy trying to unlock while juggling the gift basket in his arms.

"This is yours?" she clarified, as she watched him open the trunk and place the basket inside, before he came back around to pull open the passenger's side door for her.

"Yep. This is mine."

"Wow. You are just full of surprises, aren't you?" she chuckled, smoothing her skirt down around her legs to slide elegantly into the seat. Killian closed the door softly behind her before he jogged his way around the vehicle to drop down into the driver's seat.

It had been a while since he'd had a passenger in his car, and even longer since that passenger had been a beautiful woman. Getting his key into the ignition to start the engine proved to be more difficult than it had ever been before, as he tried to surreptitiously commit the image of Emma in his car to his mind. After all, it was unlikely he'd ever get another chance to see Emma Swan that way again.

"Not what you were expecting?" he teased, when he finally had the engine started and the car in drive.

"Not at all. But it uh… it suits you."

Killian cocked a brow in question but Emma quickly became distracted as she scrolled through the playlist he had been listening to on his way to the studio. He'd completely forgotten that he'd added a few of her tracks to it earlier that week, and Emma said nothing when she stumbled over them. But the surprise of finding her own music there was more touching than she'd expected it to be.

* * *

Killian nodded his head at Phillip as he glided his car into a parking spot just outside of Emma's home. A part of him wanted to check in with the junior agent ASAP, and see if anything suspicious had occurred while the house had been empty. But he knew that doing so could result in Phillip's cover being blown, so instead, Killian slid his keys from the ignition and unbuckled his belt, as Emma did the same thing.

He quickly jogged around the front of the car to pull open her door before she could reach for the handle, and watched as she climbed out of the vehicle just as elegantly as she'd gotten into it.

"Thanks," she said, offering him another small smile as she made her way past him and towards the front door. Killian followed her up the driveway to watch while she unlocked her home and took a few steps inside, flicking on the lights as she did. But before he could say his goodbyes, Emma turned back to ask, "Do you wanna come in?"

He knew that the answer to her question should be a resounding no. It was almost midnight and he needed to be at work early the next day. But Emma's eyes seemed to be pleading with him to say yes, so against all rational thought, Killian took a small step forward as he said, "Sure."

When he had the front door securely shut behind himself, he turned to follow Emma into the more familiar rooms of her home. Instead of settling down in the living room as he'd expected, she made her way through to the kitchen and began busying herself with the coffee machine there.

"Is decaf, okay?" she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder. "I have enough trouble sleeping without adding caffeine to the mix."

"Decaf would be perfect."

When Emma's attention was back on the machine, Killian allowed himself a moment just to take in how stunning she looked that evening. Everything she was wearing fit her perfectly, showing just how toned she really was. And the color of the outfit only seemed to enhance the freckles that decorated her otherwise flawless skin. That band of bare skin just above her waistband was so enticing, and Killian found himself clenching his hands into fists by his side, as he wondered just how soft it would feel under his fingertips.

"So um… what did you think of the performance?" Emma asked suddenly, startling him out of his fantasy.

"It was good. Really good. You're clearly a natural on stage."

Emma turned around to face him as she leaned back against the counter while she waited for their coffee to brew. "I fell a little flat in the middle, but hopefully none of the fans will have noticed that."

"I certainly didn't," he assured her. "And from what I could tell of the audience, they didn't either."

"The critics will probably pick up on it and drag me for it. You should uh… you should perhaps keep an eye out for those pieces."

The mood in the room darkened instantly as Killian realized what she was implying, and he nodded his head in agreement before she turned back to the machine and busied herself with pouring them both a drink.

When they each had a mug in hand, Killian followed Emma's lead as she moved past him to head back to the living room. He dropped down carefully onto one side of the sofa and watched from the corner of his eyes as she set her coffee down on the table, and then took her own seat. Emma bent forward to unbuckle her shoes and slip them from her feet, arranging the strappy heels neatly beside the sofa, before she pulled her legs up and tucked them underneath herself as she reached for her coffee once more.

For someone who had spent most of the evening looking flawlessly stunning and oozing confidence in front of the cameras, Emma Swan looked surprisingly small and vulnerable at that moment.

"Everything's been so quiet," she eventually whispered, keeping her focus on the dark liquid in her mug, instead of his face. "Do you think he's stopped?"

"I don't know," Killian replied honestly, as he turned in his seat to face her. "It wouldn't be the first time a serial killer had taken a hiatus. But…"

"They always start up again," she finished for him. It was her biggest fear; that one day she'd wake up to find another box waiting for her. And Emma knew that it would continue to be her biggest fear for the rest of her life, if this psychopath was never caught.

"Hopefully we'll catch a break before that happens."

She nodded her head but Killian could tell that she didn't truly believe that statement. And if he were being completely honest with himself, he wasn't sure he did either.

A tense silence settled over the room as they both sipped at their coffees. It was the kind of silence that told Killian accepting Emma's invitation into her home had been a bad idea. He had intended to do anything he could to make her feel more comfortable and to help her feel safe. To maybe stop her from turning to the booze again to soothe herself to sleep. But clearly that hadn't worked, as so far, both of their conversations had led to dark places. He was just contemplating the kindest excuse to use to take his leave when she spoke up again.

"I um… I like your car."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It's a Chevelle, right?"

"I'm impressed that you know that," he told her, raising his head to meet her eyes. "Most of the women I've known couldn't care less about it. But my car is probably the nicest thing I own."

"Do you wanna know a secret?" she asked, angling her body a little more towards his. When Agent Jones gave a slight bob of his head, she continued, "You know those car shows on the Discovery channel, right? They're kind of my guilty pleasure." Emma giggled, as the federal agent quirked a brow in her direction that said he clearly didn't believe her. "It's true! I swear. One of my exes used to watch them religiously. I guess his love for _Diesel Brothers_ must have rubbed off on me."

Killian shook his head a little in disbelief and then drained the rest of his coffee, before leaning forward to set the mug down on the table.

"You know it suits you, right?" she continued.

It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, but when he did, he asked, "In what way?"

"It's one of those cars that kind of screams _bad boy_ at ya. And although you're one of the good guys, these tight black sweaters you love, and _this-"_ She reached out to tug on the bottom of the black leather jacket he was wearing, and Killian was hit with an unexpectedly intense burst of her perfume as she did. "- _This_ kinda screams bad boy too."

"Maybe I um… maybe I should get a new wardrobe then?" he teased awkwardly, because suddenly the atmosphere in the room had changed again, and this time, he could feel a familiar charge building in the space between them.

"God, no. This look really works for you."

Killian hadn't realized that she was still holding on to his jacket until he felt her fingers brush across his stomach as she traced the path the zipper took.

" _Emma._ "

He wasn't sure what it was that he wanted from her, but Killian's voice came out as surprisingly needy at that moment, as he felt himself sway into her touch.

"Agent Jones," she countered seductively, before fisting the fabric of his coat to pull his lips down to hers.

While a small part of his brain knew that everything about the moment was wrong, the instant the soft fullness of her lips brushed against his, Killian was lost. He brought one hand up to hold the back of her head as he pressed his lips to hers with just as much fever as she'd shown.

There was nothing soft or sweet about the moment. Emma kissed like she was a dying woman who needed his lips to stay alive, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from returning each and every one of her desperate little nips with her teeth, and teasing flicks of her tongue. The arousal that he'd been stamping down all evening flared to life at the feel of her hands on his body, urging Killian to hold her tighter and pull her in closer.

His free hand found its way to her waist as he jerked her across the sofa so that he could move her into a more natural position, and Emma's own slipped under the jacket she'd previously been holding onto, her fingers clawing at the fabric of his sweater over his back. When his thumbs brushed lightly against the bare skin above the waistband of her skirt she released a desperate and dirty moan - and the sound of it was like a bucket of iced water to his senses.

Killian pulled back almost as fast as the kiss had begun while he fought to control his breathing.

Emma clearly hadn't gotten the same memo, as she leaned back in to begin feathering her lips down the column of his throat.

"Emma… Stop. We uh… we can't do this," he told her gently, as he brought his hands up to lightly grip the tops of her shoulders and hold her in place, while he shifted further across the sofa to put some space between the two of them.

"Why not? I know you're attracted to me," she pressed, leaning in a little closer. "And in case it wasn't obvious to you, I've been flirting with you all night."

"It's not about that. It's… I'd be taking advantage of you, Emma. You're young and vulnerable right now. This… it's wrong. You're not really attracted to me. It's a hero complex. You're attracted to the safety and comfort you think I can provide you with, that's all."

"Excuse me?" she asked, her tone icy sharp as she straightened up in her seat. "Are you seriously trying to use my age and my… my… _victimhood_ to tell me that I don't know my own mind right now?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"I think you should leave."

"Emma, I didn't-"

"I said leave," she snapped, as she pushed herself up to her feet and stormed across the room. "Get out and don't bother coming back."

She was gone before Killian could even think of anything to say that would make the situation better.

* * *

 **Thanks for being so patient with me while I battle these health issues. Hopefully once this next surgery is out of the way, I'll be a little more reliable.**

 **When I do get back to a more regular routine, this piece will update every other week given that the length of chapters has almost doubled. (Just so I'm not spending more time in a week editing than doing the job I actually get paid for)**


	23. Chapter 22

**Merry Christmas to all of those celebrating this week!**

* * *

As the music faded out, Emma threw her arms up to bring a halt to things before she bent over, dropping both hands down to her knees as she tried to control her breathing.

With her stadium tour beginning the next month, she'd thrown herself back into dance rehearsals as a way to try and distract herself from the shit-show that was currently her life. Dancing had never come easily to her, so she'd been working on the choreography for the tour for months now. But with everything that had happened recently, Emma had found herself stepping away from rehearsals – and it had definitely shown.

"I just need a minute," she told Kristoff, when he shot her a worried look. "I've been out of the game for far too long."

"That's why you've gotta push past this," he told her, clapping his hands together like a drill sergeant. "Feel the burn and use it to motivate yourself to keep going. You won't be able to take ten-minute breaks between songs on stage."

One of her dancers handed Emma a cool bottle of water and she downed half of it in one long pull before straightening back up again. Kristoff was right – she really needed to push past all of the aches and pains she could feel developing in her legs at that moment, if she had any hope of nailing these sets before opening night. But that didn't stop a small part of her brain from telling her to give up and collapse on the floor.

"Just let me check my messages," she told her choreographer, before turning away to head for the spot where she'd left her bag earlier that morning.

Ever since their argument the week before, Emma had been expecting a call or a message or _something_ from Ariel, going over the plans she had for the following week. When Monday had come and gone without a word from her assistant, Emma had debated sending a message of her own, but had ultimately decided that she would rather wait for Ariel to reach out to her. Tuesday and Wednesday both crawled by without any communications from the other woman, and Emma had begun to worry that when she did finally hear from her assistant, it would be in the form of a resignation notice. So on Thursday morning, she'd sucked up her pride and hit dial on Ariel's number, mentally preparing herself to grovel for her friend's forgiveness.

Emma's call had gone straight to voicemail.

Since then, she'd placed three more calls, sent four emails, and dozens of text messages. She'd just been steeling her nerves to call Agent Jones and tell him what had happened, when her phone had finally chimed with a message from her assistant on Saturday evening. Ariel had told her that she wasn't feeling well and would be in touch when she felt better. So Emma had wished her friend a speedy recovery and left it at that.

But it hadn't stopped her from checking her phone regularly for updates from her friend. She was far too used to receiving dozens a day from Ariel, even if she didn't have anything planned. So seeing her screen blank again that morning left Emma feeling uneasy in a way that she'd never really experienced before.

"Okay, I'm ready to go again," she declared, shaking off that feeling as she tossed the half-empty bottle of water on top of her jacket in the corner of the room, and then made her way back onto the studio floor.

"Set six, people. Quickly please," Kristoff called out, as Emma was handed a microphone and took her mark in the middle of the group. "And in three, two, one…" Kristoff hit the button to fill the room with one of Emma's biggest selling singles, and she did her best to remember the moves that had been choreographed for the routine, as the dancers around her instantly jumped into action.

* * *

When Kristoff finally called a break for lunch, a part of Emma felt like she could cry with the relief that flooded her system. She'd been on her feet all morning, dancing around a studio in Los Angeles, and she was already well and truly exhausted. Unfortunately, her schedule was starting to fill quickly, so she didn't have the time to rest like she really wanted. Instead, Emma took a quick shower to wash away the sweat from her body and then changed into a simple white sheath dress with cherries printed on it, and a pair of red ankle-strap heels, before she headed for the exit.

Regina had called over the weekend with a request to meet for lunch sometime soon, to discuss a proposal that had come across her desk. Emma knew that if she didn't make time for her lawyer at the start of her week, she'd probably never find the time to squeeze the appointment into her schedule before she hit the road for her tour.

So while her troop of dancers ordered salads and sandwiches for lunch, Emma's driver took her to one of the fanciest restaurants in the city, for what would likely be one of the least enjoyable meals of her month.

"There you are," Regina greeted, standing from her seat in a private area of the restaurant to press a kiss to her client's cheek. "You look better than the last time I saw you."

"Well, it's amazing what full coverage foundation can do for a girl," Emma teased, as she dropped down into her seat and ordered a glass of water from the waiter. She really wished she could have ordered a large glass of Chardonnay, but with the hours she still had left in the rehearsal studio, Emma knew that it wouldn't be a wise idea.

Both women made polite small talk as the waiter took their orders and left to fetch their drinks. It was only when they had their appetizers in front of them that Regina finally got to the reason for their meeting that day.

"So, I've had Sony movies reach out to me. They're in the middle of filming for what they anticipate will be a _huge_ blockbuster piece when it's released next year, and they're looking for a current and successful recording artist to pen a theme for it. Their first choice was, naturally, you."

"They want me to write something for their film?"

"Write, perform, _and_ record it," Regina told her, clearly far more excited about the commission she'd get from landing her client such a role, than Emma was about the job itself. But it didn't take her long to pick up on the younger woman's reluctance. "What's this?" she asked. "What's with the face? This is a _huge_ thing, Emma. It'll get you exposure to a group of consumers that maybe would have written off your work before. Most artists jump at these opportunities."

"Yeah, well… I'm not most artists," she sighed, pushing her food around her plate. Logically, she knew that Regina was right. This was a huge opportunity for her to expand her already large fanbase. But Emma also knew that she wasn't in the proper headspace to write _anything_ at the present time, let alone a song based on someone else's inspiration. "I just don't think it'll be possible in their timeframe," she finally explained. "You said this movie's already filming, right?"

Regina nodded her head in agreement, but Emma spoke again before her lawyer could say anything. "So the studio will probably aim to release it this time next year. That gives me less than a year to write and record something for them. Something _they_ approve of. I don't think it'll happen, Regina. I think they're better off taking their proposal to someone else."

"I knew I should have brought Ariel with me," the lawyer huffed good-naturedly.

"Have you uh… have you heard from Ariel recently?" Emma asked, playing with the last scallop on her plate.

"I saw her a couple of days ago," Regina replied, between sips of her wine. "She looked absolutely dreadful. Poor thing must have caught that flu virus that seems to be going around. I thought you knew that?"

"Oh, I did," Emma assured her. "I just um… I didn't know if she was using that as an excuse to avoid me."

"Why? Because of your little tiff?"

Emma's eyes shot up to meet her lawyer's and Regina smirked knowingly.

"I'm your lawyer, Emma. Ariel tells me about anything she thinks might pose a problem for you. Including your interest in an older man who works for the FBI." Her voice dropped a little and she appeared to lean in closer, as she asked in a harsh whisper, "Do I really need to tell you that if this man is connected to the case that you're involved in, you could cost him his job by pursuing a relationship with him?"

Emma reeled back in her seat as Regina's words washed over her. How could she have been so stupid? Of course she wasn't misreading Special Agent Jones's interest in her. She didn't think she was, given the not-so-subtle way he'd checked her out on a number of different occasions. But there were always those old insecurities, buried at the back of her mind, that would rear their ugly heads to remind her that she hadn't ever been good enough for anyone throughout her childhood, so why should that have changed now that she was an adult?

However, after hearing Regina explain the consequences of her actions to her, Emma was pretty certain that Special Agent Jones _was_ attracted to her. He had simply rejected her to protect his career. And after realizing that, she now felt even worse about the way she'd kicked him out of her home the week before. The poor guy had probably been intending to explain his rejection to her, until she'd stormed out of the room and demanded that he leave.

She owed so many people in her life apologies for the way she'd been behaving recently, and Emma really wasn't the best at apologizing to anyone.

"There's uh… nothing is going on between me and Agent Jones," she confidently assured Regina, because it was the truth. After all, her lawyer didn't need to know that she'd tried to make something happen - and had failed spectacularly at it.

"I should hope not. Ariel and I do _not_ need to be cleaning up the fallout from that mess. Not only would you become known as the woman who lost a decorated agent his job, but if he _is_ connected to this case that you've involved yourself in, then you could also jeopardize the entire investigation. I'm not sure there would be anything even _we_ could do to fix that mess."

"I didn't involve myself in this," Emma threw back, but Regina looked like she wasn't listening. "And why would I be jeopardizing the investigation? Even if we did sleep together – and we haven't - it's not like it would change anything."

Regina looked like she'd just heard the most stupid sentence spoken in the history of time - and to her, she probably had. She finished off the rest of her appetizer and set her knife and fork down primly before she turned her attention back to her client.

"Sleeping with a key witness in an investigation of this nature brings his credibility into question. A judge could, and probably would, throw out an entire case built against someone if that were to happen. And it would also bring into question his credibility and ethics for any other investigation he's been a part of. So I don't care how much you wanna jump on him, Emma. You stay the hell away from that man, do you understand me? You were the one who decided to involve yourself in all of this and now you're going to have to follow _my_ rules if you wanna come out of it with your reputation intact."

Emma swallowed the last of her appetizer heavily as she considered everything that Regina had just said. As much as she was attracted to Special Agent Jones, she now understood why there could never be anything more than a tentative friendship between the two of them. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin his reputation with the bureau, or risk letting this killer walk free. She was already struggling under the weight of the guilt she carried for the deaths of so many innocent people. Destroying their families' chance at justice and ruining Agent Jones's life in the process, would probably be the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

So Emma made a promise to herself as their waiter cleared away their dishes that afternoon. When she called Special Agent Jones to apologize to him later that week, she would make it perfectly clear that she understood the risks associated with her actions and reassure him that nothing like that Friday evening's events would _ever_ happen again. From that moment on, she would make sure that all of her interactions with the man were purely about the investigation she'd been drawn into, so that nobody could use them against either him or the case he was building.

She just needed to get through the rest of her lunch meeting and the day's rehearsals before that could happen.

* * *

"Morning," David greeted, as he watched his friend shrug out of his jacket and hang it by the door, before he rounded the desk to take a seat. "How did it go?"

"The whole thing was about as much fun as being repeatedly kicked in the balls," Killian sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He'd spent the morning trying to explain to the mother of one of their victims why her daughter's body had not yet been released for burial. It had been draining in a way that very few other aspects of his job could ever achieve. The entire experience had been so exhausting that he'd somehow found himself driving past a liquor store on his way back to the office. Thankfully, traffic in the area had been moving freely (which was almost unheard of for Los Angeles) so he hadn't had the time to consider stopping outside of it.

"Please tell me that you're here because you have something for me," he begged, trying to rid his mind of that old darkness before it could take hold.

"I have something, but you're not gonna like it." David slid a file across the table and Killian didn't hesitate to snatch it up and flick through the contents of it. "We finished checking out everyone with regular access to Emma Swan's home. Every single person has an alibi for at least one of our times of death."

"Fuck," Killian cursed, slamming the file back down on his desk. "Any progress on finding her parents at all? Or with the ticket sales?"

"We're struggling to find any record of an Emma Swan existing before she turned eighteen. It's quite possible that she changed her name at some point in time and because she was a minor, those records are sealed. But we'll keep working on it."

Killian nodded his head in understanding. He didn't know much about Emma's past, but it wouldn't have surprised him at all to find out that she'd changed her name when fame became a regular part of her life.

"As for the sales… we had to get a warrant for the ticket hosting site to release the information to us, but they gave us around thirty names that had booked for more than one date. According to them, it's not all that unusual. They see a lot of music fans booking everything they can for their favorite artists. Out of the names we've got, seven live outside of the country, so we can confidently rule them out. And the team has spoken with eight more, none of which have visited Los Angeles this year. We're still running down the other names on the list, but if it keeps going this way, I don't think we'll get anything from it."

"So we're back at square one," Killian sighed.

"Square two, maybe?" David argued, trying to give them some kind of hope for their investigation. "At least now we know that Emma Swan is connected to all of this somehow. And when we figure out why, I bet we'll figure out who's behind all of this."

"Yeah. Our killer couldn't have been obsessed with a reclusive author, could he?"

"That would make it too easy," David scoffed, as he pushed himself back to his feet. "I'm gonna go and see if the team has had any more luck with the rest of the ticket sales."

Killian nodded his head to show that he'd heard what David had said. He then busied himself with pulling his gun and badge from his hip, and tossed them down into the top drawer of his desk, before reaching out to turn on his computer.

But David's soft, "Hey, Killian?" had him looking back up to meet his friend's concerned gaze once more. "Do you wanna come over for dinner tonight?" he asked suddenly.

David wasn't stupid. He could see that familiar darkness tainting the edges of his friend's eyes, and if he could do _anything_ to pull him away from that, David would do whatever it took. (Even if his wife was likely to slap him when she found out about his offer, because she wasn't prepared for dinner guests.)

Killian gave the other man a small smile of thanks before he shook his head. "Maybe another time? I uh… I have somewhere I need to be tonight."

David had a feeling that he knew where that somewhere was, but he wasn't going to make things awkward for his friend by asking about it. "Okay. Well, you know where we are if you change your mind," he offered instead, before finally turning to head back to his own desk.

He hoped like hell that the team would catch a break in their case soon, before the case ended up breaking his best friend.

* * *

"Hi, my name's Jan and I'm an alcoholic."

Killian joined the chorus of voices that chanted back the words, "Hi, Jan."

It had been a while since he'd attended a meeting. At the start of his recovery, he'd made time for at least two a week, to help him stay on top of his demons. But as the weeks had become months, and the months had faded into years, his life and his job had become more important. And that desire to reach for a bottle had all-but vanished.

However, he'd been struggling with those demons long enough to recognize the early warning signs - and that was exactly what had happened to him that morning. For anyone else, taking a route back that involved driving past a liquor store would have been harmless. For Killian, it was a sign that his control over this illness was slipping, and he was determined to wrestle it back before he relapsed completely.

So when the group fell silent once more after hearing from Jan, and the guy in charge asked if anyone else wished to share with them that evening, Killian tentatively raised his hand.

"Hi, I'm Killian and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Killian."

He took a moment to consider his words before he spoke again. "I've been sober now for almost five years," he told the group, and lifted his head to meet the eyes of those sending him warm smiles. "Some days are easier than others, but I'm working on something at the moment that is… it's draining. It's soul-destroying. And every day that passes without a resolution crushes me that little bit more. So many people are relying on me to solve this problem right now and I have… nothing. Every avenue I explore comes up empty and normally, that wouldn't frustrate me as much as it does. But far too much hinges on this and every time I come up empty-handed, I feel my control slip that little bit more."

There were some nods of understanding from the rest of the group, and Killian appreciated that these people weren't just pretending to understand what he was going through. They actually knew how difficult every day could be when you were in recovery.

"I drove past a liquor store today on my way back to the office. I didn't need to go that way. I don't _usually_ go that way. But today I did. And that's why I'm here tonight. Because I am _not_ letting those demons claim me again. Not without putting up one hell of a fight. So um… thanks for listening."

There was a small murmur of agreement from the rest of the group before their leader thanked Killian for sharing and asked if anyone else had anything to say. When the group remained silent, he began winding things down.

Much like everyone else, Killian stayed behind to drink a cup of awful coffee and munch on a stale doughnut that had been set out, after helping to clear away the chairs. It might have been months since he'd been to a meeting, but he fell back into the old routine easily enough.

"Hi, I'm Jan," came a familiar voice to his left, and Killian turned to offer the woman a small smile and his own name.

"Five years is pretty impressive," she told him. "I've not yet made it past my first."

"The first year is always the hardest," Killian assured her. "But it's never truly easy. You never really stop being an alcoholic, no matter how long you've been sober."

The woman nodded her head in understanding and fidgeted a little with her own polystyrene coffee cup. She had just lifted her head to ask, "Do you -" when she was abruptly cut off by the sound of Killian's cellphone ringing.

"Sorry," he apologized, and flicked a glance down to the screen. When he saw the word _DISPATCH_ written across it, he sighed before explaining, "It's work. I'm gonna have to take this in private," and then headed for a small back room.

"Jones," he answered, when he had the door firmly shut behind himself.

"Special Agent Jones, the LAPD has requested your presence at the scene of a one-eight-seven."

Killian sighed as he scrubbed a harsh hand over his face. He'd been waiting for the call ever since their last body had dropped. As much as he hadn't wanted it to come, he knew it eventually would. "Text me the location."

"Already sent," the handler assured him, before disconnecting the line.

Killian hadn't even managed to lock his phone before it began to ring again.

* * *

Emma was almost ready to collapse as her driver navigated the rush-hour traffic in Los Angeles on Friday evening. It had been a long week of non-stop rehearsals, but she finally felt like she was in the right frame of mind for the tour that was rapidly approaching. And her fitness levels seemed to be improving by the day.

As her driver turned onto her street, Emma could make out the familiar vehicle that contained one of the agents watching over her home, and she sagged further into the leather of the car seat. While she hadn't yet worked up the courage to call Agent Jones and apologize for what had happened, she was relieved to see that a week after she'd kicked him out of her life, he was still providing her with some protection.

Thankfully, the other relationship she needed to repair seemed to be going a little better. Emma still hadn't seen Ariel since the night of their argument, but as Ariel had begun to recover from a nasty bout of flu, she'd started replying to Emma's messages and calls. While she still wasn't completely recovered, she'd managed to do most of her job from her bed, with the help of her smartphone and tablet.

Neither one of the women had mentioned the argument they'd had, but Emma felt like Ariel's messages to her had warmed in tone slightly as the week had progressed, and they were back to interacting as they normally did. That hadn't stopped Emma from promising herself that she would apologize properly to her assistant when she saw her next, however. Ariel had been with her since the very beginning of her career. The woman deserved a proper apology.

As the car rolled to a stop in her driveway, Emma offered her thanks to the driver and gingerly climbed out of the vehicle, before making her way towards the front door.

Once inside her home, she dropped her gym bag to the floor and kicked off her shoes, before heading for the staircase. She knew that she'd need a shower to soothe her aching muscles, if she had any hopes of getting out of bed the following morning. And if she crashed on the couch before she took one, she probably wouldn't move for the rest of the night.

When she was wrapped up in a fluffy yellow robe, with her damp hair curling around her shoulders, Emma made her way back downstairs and headed for her kitchen, intending to make herself a light dinner and grab a soda. But she stopped dead when her eyes caught on a brown box sitting in the middle of her coffee table.

She'd recognize the size and shape of that box anywhere.

With trembling hands she reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her phone as her eyes darted around the space, looking for any sign of an intruder.

"Jones," came a voice on the other end of the line.

"He… he's been in my home!"

* * *

 **Emma's look in this chapter is based on Jen's look for a visit to the Bowery Hotel in New York CIty, June 2015**

 **Thanks for sticking with me during this difficult time in my life.**


	24. Chapter 23

Killian froze for a moment as he considered what to do next. Protocol dictated that he should go to the crime scene to oversee the removal of the body and the collection of evidence. He would need to interview any witnesses that had been in the area, and the first responders on the scene. But Killian knew how scared Emma was right then. He'd heard it in every word she'd whispered over the line. So that evening, he made a snap judgment call that he hoped wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"Emma? Are you still there, Emma?" A small whimper on the other end of the line told him that she was listening, even if she wasn't able to talk. "I need you to go and lock yourself in the bathroom for me, Sweetheart. Can you do that?" There was a slight sniffling noise across the line and Killian took that as his confirmation that she would. "I'm gonna send the team stationed outside to check over your house. It's unlikely that our guy has lingered, but I just want to be certain. They have the spare key you gave them so you won't need to let them in. I'm gonna tell them to wait there for me and I'll be right over, okay? I just need to call my partner -"

"Don't leave me!" she begged, and Killian's heart ached at how scared and vulnerable she sounded.

"I'm not going to," he promised, pushing his way out of the room he'd been hiding inside. Jan was lingering by the snack table and raised her hand in his direction. Killian offered her a sharp bob of his head as he turned towards the front door. He didn't want to appear rude, but Emma needed him far more than Jan did at that moment. "I just need to put you on hold for a second while I call my partner. It won't take long."

Emma whimpered a little over the line but she finally managed to squeeze out a "Please hurry?" just as Killian reached his car.

He wrenched the door open forcefully and then threw himself down behind the wheel as he promised, "I will. I'll be as quick as I can." He pushed the hold button before he could talk himself out of it while he jammed his key into the ignition.

The first thing Killian did was send a quick message to Thomas and Phillip to tell them what had happened. He needed them to secure the house and then the surrounding area, before the crime scene techs arrived. Killian made sure to ask for them to start pulling the footage from security cameras in the community, and to request some uniformed officers to help interview Emma's neighbors. He also informed them that Emma Swan would be locked inside the bathroom, and under no circumstances should they attempt to remove her. The last thing he needed was for an over-eager rookie to scare her into doing something stupid. When he was finished, he turned his key to start the engine as he hit dial on David's number and set his phone into the little cradle on the dash.

"What's up?" his friend asked casually, while the sound of crunching chips echoed through the interior of the Chevelle.

"David, I'm sending you an address now," Killian told him, reaching out to hit forward on the message Dispatch had sent him only a few minutes earlier. "I need you to get there as soon as possible. There's been another body drop."

The crunching stopped abruptly. Killian used the time it took David to gather his thoughts to swing his car out of the parking space and onto the road, as he headed straight for the part of the city Emma called home.

"Okay, I'll meet you there," David said. The rustling over the line told Killian that his friend was busy ramming his arms into a jacket as quickly as he possibly could.

"You'll have to take this one solo. That son-of-a-bitch has been inside Emma's home. I'm heading there now to make sure he's not still hanging around."

David was silent for a moment and when he spoke again, his tone was much softer than it had been before. "Killian, don't you think that _I_ should be the one heading out there while _you_ take the scene?"

"Yes," Killian snapped back, because that was exactly what they should be doing in this situation. "But you're not gonna be able to convince Emma to leave her bathroom and I could be at that scene for hours. So I need you to take this one for me while I go and deal with her."

David sighed heavily across the line but he didn't protest. He'd been working with Killian long enough to know that his partner was running on gut-instinct right now. He only hoped that it was an instinct fuelled by his brain and not his groin. After a moment of tense silence, David finally said, "Be careful, Killian," and then disconnected the call. Both men knew that he hadn't been talking about the possibility of a surprise attack from their killer. But it was neither the right time nor the right place for that argument.

As Killian pulled onto the highway, he hit the button to take Emma's call off hold and knew immediately that he'd made the right decision, when all he could hear was her soft sobs over the line.

"Emma?" he asked quietly, not wanting to spook her any further. She still squeaked a little with her surprise, however. "Emma, I'm about ten minutes away from you," he told her, keeping his tone as calm and even as he could. "Agents Herman and Morris should be in the house by now. Try and relax, Sweetheart. I know that's easier said than done but you're safe right now. We're not gonna let anything happen to you."

Emma didn't say anything but after a few long seconds of silence, Killian was happy to note that her breathing had calmed slightly.

"I'm not far from you now," he promised. "I'll be there as soon as I can, Emma."

Killian kept repeating those words back to her like a mantra as he navigated the heavy traffic around the city, zooming in and out of lanes and around the slower-moving vehicles on the road. When he finally approached the gate to Emma's community, he was happy to see that it was already wide open, and a forensics van was parked just down from her home. Clearly, Phillip and Thomas had already made a start on following his instructions.

"Okay, Emma. I'm at your house now," he told her. He wasn't entirely sure she was still listening, given that she hadn't spoken at all since he'd taken her call off hold. But he didn't want to give her any more unnecessary surprises that day. "I'm gonna hang up the phone now. I need to speak with Agents Herman and Morris to see what they've found, and then I'll come and find you," he promised. "Stay where you are until then."

There wasn't any sign that Emma had heard what he'd said, so Killian kept the phone pressed to his ear for just a second longer before he finally disconnected the call.

Thomas was waiting for him outside the front door, and when Killian was in earshot, he launched straight into an account of everything he and Phillip had done since they'd arrived at the property. "We've cleared the whole house, Sir. The only room we couldn't get into was the bathroom on the ground floor, so we assume that's the one Miss Swan's inside of. There's nobody else here and no signs of forced entry either."

"None at all?" Killian asked, his brow creasing a little with his concern.

"None, Sir. Either Miss Swan left her door unlocked or…"

"Our killer has a key," he finished for him. "Okay. Thank you, Thomas."

"I'm uh… I'm sorry, Sir. We should have known," the young rookie said, more to his own feet than to his boss's face.

"It's not your fault," Killian assured him. "This guy's always been one step ahead of us. If he knows you're here he would have known how to get in without being seen. Nobody could have predicted this kind of escalation."

Thomas offered him a small sad smile and then stepped aside to allow Killian to enter the house.

The forensics team was already busy in the living room, combing the entire space for some kind of evidence they could use to find this guy, while a large brown box sat in the middle of the coffee table, completely untouched. Killian hoped like hell that they'd finally find something to point his investigation in the right direction - maybe a hair or skin cell that had been dropped while the killer had been making his way over to the coffee table. But he knew that the chances of them finding _anything_ were slim, so he wasn't going to bet on their search providing him with any new leads.

While he'd never been inside any of the bathrooms in Emma's home, Killian found the one she'd lock herself into easily enough. Phillip had taken up a position against the wall just outside of it, but left the moment he saw his boss approaching the room. As they passed each other in the hall, Killian offered his rookie a firm clap on the shoulder. It hadn't been either of their faults that this had happened, and he didn't want the two young men to think he blamed them for it.

When the hallway was deserted once more, he raised his hand and tapped his knuckles gently on the locked door. "Emma, it's Special Agent Jones," he called out. "We've swept the house and it's empty. You're safe, Sweetheart. You can come out now."

For the longest moment, Killian wasn't sure she would. A silence hung in the air, filled with all of the pain and fear that had grown and festered inside of the house over the last few months. But it was finally broken by the harsh click of the lock. Killian took a step back from the door to give Emma the space she needed, and waited patiently as she slowly turned the knob and then pulled it open.

The moment he got his first good look at her was the moment he felt his heart crack. She was wearing no makeup, which seemed to make the redness of her eyes and the tear tracks down her cheeks more pronounced. She was trembling from head-to-toe, her body shaking so violently that Killian wasn't entirely sure how she was still standing. But it was her eyes that hurt the most. The light he'd always seen in them whenever they'd met before was no longer dimmed – it was completely gone.

Emma Swan looked dead inside.

"It's okay," he whispered, swallowing hard around the lump that had formed in his throat. "It's gonna be okay, Emma. We're gonna get you out of here and relocated to somewhere safe."

Killian had been expecting some kind of protest, but Emma said nothing. In fact, she barely even looked at him.

"Why don't we go and pack a few things?" he suggested gently, hoping it would get some kind of response from her.

It didn't.

Emma simply shuffled her way silently down the hallway towards the wide and curving staircase that lead to the second floor, her body still trembling all over.

Killian followed close behind her as she climbed the steps, worried that she might end up slipping and falling. But while she may have been moving much slower than she normally would, Emma remained sturdy on her feet.

When they finally reached the double doors that led through to her bedroom, he hesitated for a moment before following her inside. The room was a lot more subdued than he'd expected, with light walls and large windows making it feel bright and airy. The red wall behind her large sleigh bed was the only real sign of Emma's bright and bubbly personality, which made him wonder just who had been responsible for decorating the house.

Killian lingered by the door, his eyes slowly taking in the room while Emma made her way into the space. But instead of heading for the closet, as he'd expected, she moved toward her bed. He half expected her to climb up onto it and curl into a ball to cry, but she froze just as her fingers brushed the plush red comforter.

"Emma?"

"Mr. Snuffles," she croaked out. Her voice was rough from all of the tears she'd shed, making it difficult for Killian to understand what she was saying.

He pushed away from the wall as he moved a little closer, hoping to see what had caught her attention. "What's wrong?" he asked, when all he found was a neatly made bed.

"Mr. Snuffles. He's not here."

Killian's brow creased with his confusion as Emma turned wide eyes his way. That deadness behind them was gone, and this time it had been replaced by a look of sheer terror as she repeated, "Mr. Snuffles. My bear. He's gone. I always keep him in the middle of the bed. He's all I have left from -"

Her voice broke over the last few words but Killian didn't need them to know what she'd been intending to say. Her most cherished possession had been taken, and in the process, the most intimate space in her house had been violated.

"Stay here for a moment," he warned firmly, guiding her towards a corner nearest the door so that she could see what was going on all around her.

Killian pulled his gun from his hip and began taking small measured steps around the room. It wasn't that he didn't trust Thomas and Phillip to clear the house themselves. It was just that experience had always taught him to be overly-cautious instead of blasé when it came to situations such as these.

He checked behind every large piece of furniture in the way that he'd been taught at the academy, before Killian flipped up the covers on the bed. The solid base had his heart calming slightly as he headed for the door closest to him. A quick flick of the light switch showed it to be Emma's closet, and after checking through the cupboards and making sure there were no hidden spaces in the room, Killian slipped back out and shut the door firmly behind himself. The en-suite was just as empty as the rest of the house had been, and with a sigh of relief, he quickly holstered his gun and made his way back to Emma's side.

"I'm so sorry," Killian offered, unsure of what else he could say at that moment that would bring her any kind of comfort. He took a small step closer to her, careful not to get too close while she was still so jumpy, and then slowly reached for her hand. When his index finger brushed over the back of her knuckles, Emma trembled more violently before she reached out to cling onto the sleeve of his leather jacket.

"I promise you, we will catch him," Killian told her, because he was damned sure of that. He wasn't planning to rest until he'd brought the twisted son-of-a-bitch to justice, not just for Emma's sake, but for his own peace of mind.

Emma didn't look like she truly believed him but she did finally lift her head to make eye contact with Killian for the first time that evening. He gave her a small smile, one he hoped would be reassuring, and then reached out with his free hand to rub her arm softly.

Emma's composure finally seemed to leave her as she crumpled to the floor and began to sob harder than ever before. Killian allowed himself to be pulled down with her, his knees hitting the plush carpet a little harder than he'd have liked, as she cried into his chest.

"It's gonna be okay, Emma," he repeated, gathering her into his arms to hold her as close as possible. "It's gonna be okay."

Killian wasn't sure how long he sat on the floor, holding Emma as she trembled and sobbed in his arms. He knew there were other things he should have been doing right then. People he should be speaking with and evidence he should be reviewing. But Emma was all alone and she was scared. There was no way he was going to leave her when what she needed most was someone she trusted to comfort her. Even after her tears had dried and her sobs had fallen silent, Killian still held her tightly. He held her until she finally felt ready to let go of him.

Killian offered her a moment of privacy as he pushed himself back to his feet, taking a few long seconds to examine the painting on the wall behind him before he turned to face her. But when he did, he found that Emma was wearing that blank mask once again.

"Do you have a bag you can pack some stuff in?"

"In the closet," she whispered.

Killian reached for the door nearest to him and flicked on the light to find every fashionista's dream hidden behind it. He knew that the contents of that one small space were probably worth more than his yearly salary, but he didn't have the time or the energy to examine that idea any further. Instead, he grabbed the nearest duffel bag from the closest shelf, and then made his way back out to Emma's room to set it down on her bed.

"I'll let you do the packing. I wouldn't even know where to start," he chuckled, but it didn't get a response from Emma.

She made her way slowly and methodically around the room, gathering up underwear, t-shirts, leggings, and jeans. Emma dumped them all into the bag on her bed and then headed for the en-suite bathroom. When she returned, she had a large bag in her hands that she tossed down on top of her shirts.

"Do you wanna put some clothes on and then we can go?" Killian suggested.

Emma looked down at herself like she was seeing her bathrobe for the first time in her life. When she lifted her head again she gave it a slight nod before she gathered up a few more items and then headed through to her bathroom. Killian noticed that she'd left the door open, but he busied himself with tucking her clothes and toiletries into her bag and zipping it shut, to offer her as much privacy as he possibly could.

When Emma finally emerged from the bathroom she was dressed in a simple black sweater and a pair of dark jeans. She looked nothing like the young, bubbly pop star on his niece's walls, but she was safe, and Killian told himself _that_ was all that really mattered.

He grabbed the bag from her bed and swung it over his shoulder before gesturing for Emma to walk ahead of him. Killian made sure he was only a few steps behind her the entire way down. While Emma never turned back to look at him, he could tell that his presence was helping to keep her going.

David was in the living room speaking with Victor when they made it back downstairs. Emma seemed to look between the two vaguely-familiar men in her home and her front door before she turned to Killian, silently begging for his guidance.

"I'm just gonna have a quick word with my partner and Dr. Whale, and then we'll get you out of here," he promised. "Why don't you come and sit down for a moment?"

Emma nodded her head but didn't move, so Killian gently settled his hand on her lower back to guide her through her own home. She sat on the sofa like she'd never seen it before, perching herself on the edge, poised to move if she needed to. And Killian's heart gave a painful squeeze at just how lost she looked in a place that should have been her safe haven. He dropped the duffel bag down to the floor and reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder as he made his way past, but Emma flinched slightly at the unexpected contact.

"You'll need to sweep the whole house," he told Whale, in lieu of a greeting. "The fucker was in her bedroom."

Victor's eyes widened with his shock but he nodded his head and pulled out a small notepad to jot down the information.

"Please tell me we have something."

David's eyes flicked over to Emma's form, lingering there for a moment before he dragged his gaze back to his friend's solemn face. "Gold's going to start the autopsy as soon as the body's back at the lab. He doesn't think anything's going to come back, though. The note in the mouth was the same as before, the marks across the face and torso almost identical, and her ring finger was missing. The cause of death appears to be the deep gash across her throat. A preliminary sweep of the scene showed there wasn't enough blood to suggest she was killed there, so we're looking at another body dump. The alley seems to contain plenty of forensic evidence, but Victor's team thinks most, if not all of it, will be completely unrelated to our case."

It was the same as every other crime scene they'd been called to. Killian wasn't going to hold his breath that any of the forensics in the alley would give them a name to work with.

"What about an ID? Do we have one yet?"

"Nothing yet," David replied. "Gold will get us the usual dental work to see if we can find a match. The victim does appear to be slightly older this time, though. If I had to guess, I'd say late-thirties, possibly early-forties."

Killian nodded to show that he understood what had just been said before he turned his attention back to Victor.

"We pulled a few prints from around the house, but honestly, I think most of them will be cleared by the records we already hold. Thomas and Phillip were right, none of the doors or windows show any signs of being forced, so it appears that our killer has a key."

"That might be something," David threw in, and Killian made a mental note to ask Emma about that when she'd calmed down a little.

"As for the box," Victor continued, turning to show Killian where the contents had been spread across the table for photographing and bagging. "It's the same as we've seen before. The letter was a little different this time, though. That might…" Victor trailed off as Killian's hand bypassed the letter that was already sealed in an evidence bag, and instead reached for the pictures that had been included.

"Gloves?" he asked, and someone to his left handed him a pair. While he pulled them on, Killian allowed Victor to cut the seal and make his usual notes about where, when and why it had been tampered with, before he handed the photographs over.

Killian took his time scanning each one. There was something about them that was oddly familiar, but he couldn't immediately tell what it was. That was until he reached the seventh image. The picture wasn't well lit, thanks to the surroundings it had been taken in, but there was more than enough light for Killian to confirm his worst fears.

"Shit!"

"What? What is it? What do you see?" David urged, assuming that his best friend had finally spotted something they'd all missed. Something that would break their case wide open.

"I know who she is," he whispered instead. "Oh God, I know who this is."

Both men turned startled eyes his way, but Killian's own gaze flew over their heads to fix on Emma. The young woman was busy staring around the space, her eyes darting here and there as if she expected someone to jump out at her. She wasn't paying them any attention at all, and for just a brief moment, Killian was grateful that her shock had left her so detached from her surroundings.

"Who is she?" David urged.

"Ariel," he whispered. "Her name's Ariel. She's Emma's personal assistant."

* * *

 **For those of you who don't know, I'm going through some difficult times personally at the moment both with my health and in my private life, so I'm afraid updates will remain sporadic for the time being because I just don't have the time or energy to dedicate to my fandom life right now. Thanks for your patience.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


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